


You're Not Telling the Truth

by ladystarsky



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, also lassie is just incredibly confused in this fic sorry, mentions of blood and gruesome ish murders, shawn flirting does that to u i guess, the angst comes later on btw and its preeetty strong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-04-20 05:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladystarsky/pseuds/ladystarsky
Summary: Self-proclaimed 'Head Psychic Detective' Shawn Spencer finds himself the center of a string of gruesome murders after one of his murder mystery novels becomes the sole inspiration for a serial killer.Or also…How Carlton Lassiter tries to avoid Shawn's romantic advances, but yet still finds himself somehow falling for the fake psychic anyways.
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 53
Kudos: 160





	1. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus puts the moves on a grieving woman, and Lassiter can't fix his tie without Shawn's expert help.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/01/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 03/01/21  
WOW it has been two years since i started this fic, and a year since i've come back to it.  
i guarantee this fic will be finished however as i have everything planned out already, the hard part is writing it...  
currently being reworked and re-edited to match my current writing level as two years ago, though personally i do think it's good, it could be better.
> 
> -
> 
> hey! so this is my first fanfic so please be kind haha i recently rewatched psych and became obsessed with it again (because who wouldn't? it's an absolute masterpiece).
> 
> anyways! got the idea from castle because that was also a show i was obsessed with as a kid (i didn't grow up with cartoons). it is mainly from the very first episode of castle called 'flowers for your grave' where someone is recreating the crimes in the book. though that was a pretty interesting concept, and if you've seen castle you'll know there are actually some similarities between it and psych.
> 
> anyways again! please enjoy. and sorry for any grammar mistakes or anything; i'm just writing this for fun, really, and haven't had the time (mostly the patience) to look over it all.
> 
> i'm truly just going with the flow.

“Shawn, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“Not sure that I do, Gus.” Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic Detective, was currently reading the newspaper while spinning rapidly in his wheely chair. Burton Guster, best friend and also partner in the first ever ‘Psychic Detective’ business, sat at his desk across from the young man, annoyance plastered on his face.

“Stop spinning your chair, Shawn. I’m trying to do work here and you’re distracting me.” Shawn slowed his spinning, suspiciously eyeing Gus from across the table. W-A-S-D and spacebar would be the end of Gus.

“You’re literally just playing games,” Shawn pointed out, and Gus looked up again, glaring.

“So? You’re ruining my concentration.”

“If you have to concentrate on Pac-Man, you’ve got other problems going on, buddy.” Gus made a sound of indignation, giving up on the keyboard and throwing his hands down in defeat.

“Man, how do you always know what game I’m playing?” Shawn smiled, averting his eyes from the window reflection behind Gus. Raising his fingers to his temple, he put on his best psychic face.

“Don’t you—” Gus began, but was cut off with: 

“I’m psychic, Gus—can’t help it, can’t turn it off.”

“Shawn, I swear—” Gus started, but he cut himself off when he noticed a figure standing in the doorway. The figure, a brown-haired woman, stepped into the room, a nervous smile on her face.

“Hi, are you Shawn Spencer, ‘Psychic Detective’?” the woman asked, but before Shawn could speak, Gus quickly stood and rushed right over, extending a welcoming hand.

“No, but I’m his equally important and more handsome partner, Burton Guster. You can call me Gus.” Gus waited until she grasped his hand before adding “Hello.” in a sultry tone. Shawn gagged viciously, but no one seemed to notice.

“Hi, _ I’m _ Shawn Spencer, ‘_Head _ Psychic Detective’, and just thought you should know, Gus here has a split personality. His other half, Bruton Gaster, will surface soon.” Shawn ignored Gus’ piercing glare and stood to meet the woman, hands humbly in his pockets. “So, what can we do for you, Miss...?” The woman blinked at him in confusion for a second before answering.

“Mia Louis, and I’d like to hire you. My boyfriend is missing and I need you to find him for me.” The woman fiddled with the handbag strap in her hand, clearly nervous. “He’s been missing for a week and… well, I heard you guys are the best at finding people.”

“Why yes we—” Shawn began, but was cut off by his partner.

“That’s absolutely terrible, and I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. Here, take a seat. Let me make you comfortable.” Gus snakes his arm around the woman’s shoulders, leading her over to the couch by the window. Shawn stared at his friend with gross disbelief.

“Bruton, may I speak with Burton privately in the corner over here?” Shawn gestured to a few feet away from the couch, shifting his feet over to the designated ‘whispering’ spot. Gus shot the woman—Mia—a reassuring smile before reluctantly walked over, still making eyes at the obviously heartbroken woman. “Man, what’s your problem? The boyfriend’s probably in a ditch somewhere and here you are, making eyes at his woman.” Shawn hissed irritatedly, and Gus made a disagreeing noise at him.

“Shawn, if he’s in a ditch, then he’s probably going to die, and if he’s dead, someone has to be there for this _ beautiful _ woman,” Gus whispered back, adding large emphasis to the word ‘beautiful’. He turned to stare at Mia, who was currently holding back tears on the couch. Gus thumbed his nose, and Shawn decided it had gone too far.

“Have you no shame, Bruton Gaster!” Shawn cried out, alarming Mia who was in the process of digging out tissues from her handbag. Shawn turned his attention back to Mia, ignoring Gus’ furious look that was currently burning a hole through his head. “Mia, I’m so sorry for that outburst. Bruton Gaster just told me he’s going to mentally kill Gus so he can be the dominant personality.”

“Shawn—!”

“But don’t worry, Mia. Bruton and I and what’s left of Gus are here for you. Now, what can you tell me about this boyfriend? Spare no details.”

* * *

“O’Hara! Get over here immediately!” Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department, barked out at the station, and a small blonde woman came running almost instantly, looking a little bit frazzled.

“What is it, Carlton?” Juliet O’Hara, Junior Detective, stood in front of the salt and pepper haired man, eyes wide in alert and arm clutching a file folder.

“Which tie makes me look nicer, the blue or the red?” Lassiter asked in a calmed tone, holding up two silk ties. Juliet frowned, and sat in the seat across from her partner.

“Did you really call me over to ask me which tie looks better?”

“Well, yeah, I needed your opinion,” Lassiter said matter-of-factly, then held up the ties again, closer to her face this time. “Pick,” he demanded, and Juliet sighed.

“The blue one. Brings out your eyes better.”

“Thank you, O’Hara.” He gave her a quick smile before returning to his regularly-scheduled hardass reputation. “Get back to work.” Lassiter threw the red and blue ties on the desk and started taking his current tie off, which was stained terribly with coffee. “Stupid McNabb,” he muttered, struggling to take off his tie. He yanked on it, hard, which caused it to somehow tighten and almost choke him to death. “What the—O’Hara! I need your help!” Lassiter yelled for the junior detective again; he was too sleep-deprived to deal with this menial task.

Carlton Lassiter had been up all night chasing after a man who went by the alias ‘Thomas Kerrigan’. Suspected of first degree murder, the only lead they had on the man was his basic description and last known address. Lassiter was determined to identify and find the rat bastard before, God forbid, _ Spencer, _ got involved. He had somehow managed to keep it quiet for now, even bribing O’Hara with friendship talks to keep _ her _ quiet, but it was only a matter of time before—

“Lassie!” a voice cried cheerfully, and in walked Spencer, then Guster, then a woman he’s never seen before, into the police station.

“No,” Lassiter snapped instantly, before swiveling his chair around, frantically trying to fix his tie before Spencer saw. _ Damn it, where was O’Hara when you needed her? _ “Juliet!” he called again, using her first name in one last desperate attempt.

“Whatcha doin’, Lassie? You okay there?”

“Go _ away_, Spencer,” Lassiter growled, yanked harshly on his tie again. Maybe he should just cut it.

Before he could grab the scissors off his desk however, his chair was suddenly swiveled around, bringing him face to face with the fake psychic. Spencer frowned at him, head tilted slightly to the left, eyes glued to Lassiter’s coffee-stained tie in a mangled mess against his neck.

Lassiter could feel the embarrassment rising to his neck, and he frantically pushed it down.

“Lemme help you out here Lassie, and then maybe you can do something for me,” Spencer said softly, and before Lassiter could do anything, the man had reached over and started to untangle his tie. Lassiter sat there, frozen, as Shawn’s hands strategically moved around his neck, fingertips grazing his stubbled jaw. The younger man moved slowly, eyes never once leaving the tainted tie.

“I—” Lassiter swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from the man before him. Were his eyes always that blue? Green? Lassiter struggled to find his words.

“Almost done, Lassie,” Shawn murmured, his voice low and sweet, and Lassiter could confidently say he had never heard _ that _ tone before. Shawn’s hands began untucking the tangled tie from underneath his white collared dress shirt, signalling that he was nearly finished. Lassiter could feel the other man’s breath on him, and if he just leaned a bit closer he could probably…though he didn’t want to, but if he did…

Shawn finally glanced up at him through his lashes, and there was something in that look that made Lassiter feel like there was a possibility, however small, that _ something _was happening right now.

He didn’t know how he felt about that.

All he knew was that Shawn had simply looked at him, eyes crinkled in the way they did when he smiled a genuine smile, and Lassiter didn’t outright hate it.

And Shawn was still looking at him, as if he were expecting something.

Funny enough, Lassiter was expecting something, too.

“Carlton!”

It wasn’t _ that_.

“_Carlton! _ Some of us have work to do, you know. Not all of us can just sit there fretting over which tie to wear.” Juliet promptly walked over and placed some files down on Lassiter’s desk, effectively killing… whatever moment that was. Shawn finally finished removing Lassiter’s coffee-stained tie and placed it on his desk beside the blue and red ties, clearing his throat loudly. Lassiter swallowed the lump in his throat, pretending not to notice how the other man was standing in between his legs.

“Go with the blue tie, Lassie. Does wonders for those baby blues of yours,” Shawn winked at him before moving away to grab the files Juliet just placed down. “What’s this?” Lassiter remained speechless with is tongue caught in his throat and his mind still attempting to comprehend what just happened and catch up to current events.

(But really, all he could feel was the sudden lack of warmth in the space Shawn—Spencer (God, when had he switched to _ Shawn?) _—had just occupied mere seconds ago.)

“That,” Juliet began, snatching the file from Spencer’s hands and placing it back on Lassiter’s desk. “Is none of your business. Lassiter and I are so close to solving it, and we do not need your help.” Juliet proclaimed this proudly, and Lassiter smirked, shaking off whatever he was feeling before snatching the blue tie off his desk. He had trained her well.

“What’s Guster doing over there? You two are usually conjoined at the hip,” Lassiter asked, changing the subject towards the fake psychic’s partner in crime. The three of them turned to look at Gus, who was sitting on the bench with a dark-haired woman who looked close to tears. Lassiter quickly tied his tie around his white collar, eyebrows raised at the scene before him.

“Is Gus putting the moves on a grieving widow?” Juliet asked incredulously, and Spencer sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Sadly, yes. Mia’s boyfriend disappeared about a week ago, so Gus thinks he’s dead in a ditch.” Spencer shrugged like this was an everyday occurrence for him: Guster flirting with a crying woman with a potentially dead lover. All three of them inched closer towards the duo, carefully listening in to their conversation.

“I just hope Thomas’ okay,” the woman, Mia, sobbed, and Guster nodded ‘understandingly’ while snaking his arm around her shoulders. Spencer audibly gasped from beside him, and Lassiter snorted; at least he had the decency not to, as Juliet had so eloquently put it, ‘put the moves’ on a grieving woman.

“There, there, Mia. Shawn and I will do our best, you have nothing to worry about,” Guster soothed, and Mia looked at him, eyes rimmed red and a small smile playing on her lips.

“Thank you, uh,” she paused, and Guster frowned. “Is it Bruton or Gus I’m speaking to?”

“What—”

“Wait, hold on, did she just say Thomas?” Juliet asked, and Spencer turned his attention back to her, nodding slowly. “And he’s been gone about a week?” Spencer nodded again, a crinkle appearing in his brow as a signal of concern.

“You okay, Jules? You wanna put the moves on her too?” Juliet glared at him but didn’t respond, instead grabbing the file off Lassiter’s desk once more and flipping through it rapidly. Lassiter’s eyes widened as he made the connection too.

“Her boyfriend’s the murderer!” Lassiter cried, excited that they finally had a lead on who this man was, and before Spencer, no less. Gus and Mia looked up at the sudden outcry, staring at Lassiter with disbelief. Lassiter shuffled awkwardly under the glare of Juliet.

“Uh, what I meant to say was—” Lassiter cleared his throat, and Spencer raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. Crap, when had _ he _become the amusing one? The woman—Mia—began to cry even harder.

“Great job, Lassie.” Shawn chirped, slapping Lassiter roughly on the back before moving towards Gus and Mia. “Mia, honey, did Gus finally tell you about his third personality? His name’s Brawn Gencer, and it’s totally a cheap imitation of me.”

“Shawn!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything and anything is appreciated!


	2. Mirrored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus won't let Shawn murder him, and Shawn may or may not have written smut between himself and Lassie.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/01/21

“Mia, can you tell us about your boyfriend, Thomas?” Juliet questioned in the interrogation room, and the woman before her nodded, sniffling back tears with wide, red doe-like eyes.

“Technically ex-boyfriend, just saying.” Gus moodily pointed out from behind the two-way mirror, and Shawn jabbed him harshly in the ribs. The other man yelped in pain.

“You  _ disgust _ me, Guster,” Shawn said in his best Lassiter impression, before turning his attention back to Mia. Lassiter, who stood beside Shawn, glared at the both of them but said nothing. Shawn thought he could have at least appreciated the bravado he added into the impression.

“Um, we had only known each other for about a month, but he—he was the absolute sweetest. I can’t even… I can’t imagine him being anything other than that.” Mia grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and blew her nose into it noisily. Shawn winced.

“She’s useless. Just another pawn in whatever sick game this is,” Lassiter muttered, eyes still glued to the interrogation room. Shawn looked at him quizzically. “She clearly has no clue about who the hell this guy is.”

Shawn pursed his lips in thought. “Soooooo, Lassie, what’s this case actually about? Besides her missing boyfriend—”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Gus corrected.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Shawn continued, shooting his best friend a look. “And the fact that Thomas isn’t his real name.” 

Lassiter turned his attention away from the room and looked at Shawn for a moment, as if debating whether or not he should explain the case or say ‘what the hell’ and shoot Shawn where he stood.

Shawn hoped for the former.

“Last week,” Lassiter begrudgingly began. “A young woman by the name of Janet Ortiz was murdered in her own home, parents were out of town. It was a gruesome murder too; her hands were strung up and pinned with nails hammered into the wall. However, cause of death was a deep slash to the neck.” Gus slowly began backing out of the room, looking like a dark shade of green.

“I have a thing—”

“Gus, just go.” Shawn waved his hand as his friend ran off, most likely to go puke somewhere; Gus had never fully gotten over his sensitive stomach. “Wait, so strung up against the wall, hands nailed like Jesus, what else?” Shawn was feeling an odd sense of familiarity towards the case, but he couldn’t quite place it.

_ Focus, Shawn,  _ said a voice that sadly sounded like his father.

“Her hair was also completely shaved off for some sick reason.” Lassiter grimaced at the memory. “Anyways, we found out that Kerrigan, or whoever he is, was visiting to fix her sink or something. Some contract work, basically. Neighbors said they saw a man, about 5’8, brunette, entering her home a week leading up to her murder. One nosy neighbor approached him, which is how we learned his name, or at least, what we  _ thought _ was his name. We tried to find him and that’s how we discovered it was an alias. Regardless of whether or no he’s the killer, he’s the best and only suspect we got at the moment.” Lassiter crossed his arms, an eyebrow quirked at Shawn. “Well?” he pressed, clearly wanting to hear Shawn’s outrageously true psychic visions, but all Shawn could think was:

Huh.

_ Occam’s razor,  _ his father had told him before, when he was a child, during one of their ‘training to be a cop at the mere age of ten’ sessions (not to be confused with his ‘training to be a cop at the mere age of nine’ ones, or any of the earlier ones, for that matter). “Occam’s razor, Shawn. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. You don’t need the answer to be like one of your adventure comic books—real life doesn’t work like that, son.”

“But Daaaad,” Shawn had whined, “It really could just be a coincidence!”

“Coincidence that you’ve got chocolate all over your mouth and that the brownies are missing? I don’t think so, Shawn.”

The chocolate was there, Shawn could see it now: all over this case, all over Thomas Kerrigan and Mia Louis and Janet Ortiz.

All over  _ him _ .

“Huh,” Shawn said aloud, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. They stood there in silence, watching Juliet comfort the crying Mia on the other side of the mirror.

“‘Huh’  _ what? _ ” Lassiter asked after a moment, obviously expecting Shawn to expand on his ‘huh’ with outrageous theatrics like he always did.

Shawn looked down at his hands, and he could almost imagine the brownie batter covering them, melted and crumbly all at the same time. Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat.

_ Maybe it’s just a coincidence,  _ Shawn thought to himself, ignoring the voice of his father chastising him in the back of his mind.

“Did she… happen to be wearing a red dress?” Shawn asked slowly, meeting Lassiter’s eyes again to find they actually seemed to be filled with concern.

Shawn, however, was too preoccupied at the moment to look into that, and he filed it away for study later.

“Yes, actually—”

And that’s all he needed to hear.

“Short, blonde hair? Curled? Maybe a little dyed, found on the ground in front of her like a peace offering of some sort, if I’m not mistaken?” Shawn rattled on, his voice a slightly higher octave than it was a few moments earlier. Lassiter furrowed his brow at him, concern replaced with confusion.

“Yes…” Lassiter said tentatively. “That’s actually… spot on. Are you…” Lassiter cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Any other day, Shawn would have felt  _ thrilled  _ to have Lassiter uncomfortable with his pure psychicness, but today it just…

Shawn  _ really  _ wished he was psychic right now.

“Are you…” Lassiter began again. “‘Seeing’ something, Spencer?” Because they have been down this road before, and no good would come from Lassiter accusing Shawn of a crime.

Somehow, it made things worse, because this time Shawn really did feel like he had committed a crime.

“Hm.” Shawn said, and bit his lip nervously. He looked down at the plate of brownies in his hands, and he looked up at crying Mia, covered in chocolate.

He really hated simple explanations.

“For the first time, Lassie, I’m really not.”

* * *

“Um, Spencer, what the hell is this?” Lassiter held up a book that was titled ‘Murder Me Not’ with a picture of flowers on the front with petals falling off it. The feature of interest, however, was the author at the bottom, labeled as one ‘Shawn Spencer’.

Lassiter, Juliet, Gus, and Shawn were currently sitting in the conference room, waiting for any sort of explanation from Shawn that would explain his connection to the murder. After Juliet had talked to Mia, they had sent her home to grieve, promising to tell her any news they received on her missing boyfriend.

Whether it was good or bad news, however, was a different story.

“Well, you see—” Shawn nervously began, but Gus cut him off, obviously trying to get him back for the split personality thing.

“It’s Shawn’s secret murder mystery book,” Gus explained nonchalantly, and Shawn turned towards him, a look of outrage on his face. Gus simply shrugged.

“ _ Gus! _ ” Shawn whined, and Lassiter sighed at their antics, choosing to ignore them and instead opening the book to flip through the first few pages.

“It’s not very secret when you put your full name on the front, Shawn,” Juliet logically pointed out, as if explaining something very simple to a small child, and Shawn proceeded to pout in his seat. Like a small child.

“ _ Jules! _ ”

“Anyways,” Gus continued, clearly keen on ignoring his partner. “Shawn started writing them a few months after Psych started up. They actually became quite popular, I’m surprised you guys didn’t know about it.” Juliet looked at Shawn, an impressed look on her face. Shawn, forgetting about the outrage he felt mere seconds ago, soaked up these seconds of fame from his colleagues. He puffed his chest slightly and grinned at Juliet.

“Sorry I don’t have time to keep up with your shenanigans, Spencer,” Lassiter grumbled half-heartedly, obviously interested in Shawn’s book. Shawn smirked as Lassiter seemed to be engrossed in the ‘About the Author’ section at the back. “Lassie said ‘shenanigans’,” Shawn whispered to Gus, who responded with a snort of amusement.

“See something you like at the back there, Lassie?” Shawn asked loudly, and Lassiter’s eyes shot up, a deer-caught-in-headlights look playing on his face. Juliet leaned towards Lassiter to see what he was reading, but Lassiter snapped the book shut, an annoyed expression on his face mixed with a hint of pink embarrassment.

“Read us an excerpt!” Juliet said excitedly, and Lassiter looked around to see everyone staring at him intently; there was only one copy they could get ahold of in such a short period of time, as Shawn only kept one copy of his book in the Psych office.

(The rest were stored in his Dad’s attic, unbeknownst to Henry as he rarely went up there. Henry hadn’t actually known about Shawn’s career as New York Times best selling author, so Shawn made sure to keep two copies out when the books came in—one for the Psych office, and a fully signed copy with a little message written in it for his Dad. Henry never said anything about the book or even acknowledged that he read it, but he did keep it on his shelf beside his prized fishing trophy and the very first newspaper Shawn was ever featured in as a ‘psychic’ detective, so that had to mean  _ something,  _ right?) 

“Fine.” Lassiter opened the book again and flipped to chapter one, and was about to begin when Shawn interrupted.

“Go to chapter three, Lassie, that’s when it gets good.” Lassiter raised an eyebrow at him in annoyance but nonetheless obliged.

* * *

_ Detective Laurence entered the murder scene and immediately began surveying the room with trained eyes; he catalogued every detail, however miniscule, into the depths of his mind—the broken vase, the smashed window, the placement of the couch pillows—there was an obvious struggle between the victim and murderer. He turned the corner of the room and came face to face with the victim; he felt a sickness in his stomach rise as the blood, still fresh, dripped down the oak wall of the home, oddly reminding him of the way ice cream reacted when placed under the eyes of the sun. _

_ The victim, a young woman who looked to be about in her twenties, was strung up with rope that was tied to gold, decorative hooks that protruded out the wall; she was propped up like a hunting souvenir. Her hands were nailed to the wall as well, rusty screws sloppily but strategically hammered deep into the flesh of her pale palms. She wore a red v-neck dress, but at this point Lawrence wasn’t sure if the dress was even red to begin with—maybe it became red after the killer had slashed her neck open, cutting the carotid artery and severing the vocal cords. _

_ Her head, Lawrence noticed, was the most interesting piece of all, the ‘pièce de résistance’: the killer hand shaved her short blond hair and placed it in front of her in a pile, as if it were a piece offering to a God. _

_ (After seeing this, Lawrence found it hard to believe there was even a God to bring offerings to.) _

_ Lawrence snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves and picked up a lock of her hair; blonde, but with a tinge of brunette, most likely dyed and quite recently by the intensity of the colour. It felt familiar somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. He placed the hair back on the ground before standing up, looking around for his partner. _

_ “Orland! Check with the neighbors for any suspicious activity, then look up a list of hair salons in the area.” Lawrence paused, taking one last look at his surroundings. _

* * *

“We’re going to catch this sick son of a bitch,” Lassiter finished and frowned before flipping to the first few pages of the book. “Published in 2007.” Lassiter said, confusion filling his voice.

“Lassie? You like it?” Shawn pressed after a moment of silence, eager to know if his friends enjoyed it. Gus looked at him disapprovingly.

“Kind of sick, Shawn.” Gus supplied unhelpfully, and earned a swat from Shawn on the head. “What? It is! The way you killed her is absolutely horrible. You should feel ashamed.”

“Says the guy whos flirting with a grieving woman,” Shawn argued back, and Gus shook his head and sat back in his seat, arms crossed. Clearly he had no retort for that one.

“Shawn,” Juliet began. “This is… amazing. The writing, the imagery, but...” She trailed off, awestruck by his blatant ability to be fantastic at everything he did.

“Thanks Jules, knew I could always count on you.” Shawn grinned happily, then leaned forward towards Lassiter. “Lassie? Hello? Any thoughts?”

“I—” Lassiter swallowed, still staring at the book.

“Shawn no,” Juliet turned to face Shawn, eyes sparkling. “It’s amazing because that’s  _ exactly _ what Lassiter said when he saw the crime scene last week. Word for word. Your ability is amazing, Shawn.” Shawn blinked for a moment, wondering if he really was psychic. He set a mental reminder to go to the doctor in the near future, then made a mental note to interrogate Henry—his Dad has some uncanny moments sometimes. Lassiter also looked equally bewildered, because it was either Shawn was indeed psychic, or Lassiter was just really,  _ really _ easy to predict.

Shawn suspected Lassiter hated both options, and therefore was staying silent to avoid picking one.

“Holy shit, dude, I predicted a crime!” Shawn cheered instead, deciding to focus on the bright side of things, and raised his fist towards Gus, expecting a fist bump. Gus raised his hand and pushed Shawn’s fist down, looking at Shawn like he was crazier than usual.

“Uh,  _ no _ , Shawn, all you predicted is what Lassiter would say. You  _ actually _ incited a disturbing crime from one of your ‘Psychos’ out there.” Shawn pouted again, but inside he knew Gus was right; his book may have led to someone being murdered. This fact sobered him up a bit, but he didn’t want to go  _ there  _ just yet.

“‘Psychos’?” Lassiter finally spoke, staring at Shawn for an answer. Shawn merely shrugged. “That’s what my fans call themselves. I’m famous, you know.” Shawn winked at Lassiter, who merely raised an eyebrow at him. He had been doing a lot of that lately.

“I can’t believe you even wrote this, Spencer. You barely know how to spell your own name.” Lassiter squinted suspiciously at him. “Did Guster write this for you?” Gus sat up straighter at this, a smug look appearing on his stupid face.

“He did not!” Shawn cried incredulously, standing up in anger. “Can’t believe you would say that Lassie. First, Gus squeals like a girl at the very mention of blood—”

“Sorry that I think blood belongs inside of your body, unseen,” Gus defended.

“And second,” Shawn continued, ignoring Gus’ interruption. “It hurts me in my feelings place to hear you say that, especially since I made you the main character.” Lassiter blinked at him, obviously taken aback.

“You  _ what? _ ” Shawn snatched the book from Lassiter’s hands, flipping through to one of the pages.

“Detective Lawrence! That’s you, Lassie!” Shawn pointed to a paragraph on the page that had a detailed description of one ‘Carl Lawrence’. “He’s got the stern bush and everything, very,  _ very  _ sexy if you ask me. If you flip towards the end there’s a very raunchy scene involving him and a certain consultant—” Shawn continued to flip to the back of the book. Lassiter’s eyes went wide as he quickly snatched the book back from the fake psychic, snapping it shut with a beet red face. Whether the red from from anger, embarrassment, or arousal, Shawn decided he couldn’t tell.

“Enough, Shawn,” Juliet chastised lightly, not even questioning whether or not Shawn’s claim of his and Lassiter’s sex scene held any truth. “Someone out there is clearly trying to bring your book alive, so you need to tell us everything.”

Shawn groaned. “But it’s a series and I haven’t finished the second book yet and—”

“Shawn,” Juliet warned, and Shawn sat down in his seat, defeated.

“Fine! If you don’t care about spoilers.” Shawn cleared his throat in an obnoxious manner, which gained a jab in the ribs from Gus. “Okay! So basically, I based the book on you guys. And by you guys, I mean Jules and Lassie. Gus wouldn’t let me write about him, something about how I’d portray him badly.”

“You wanted to murder me, Shawn.” Gus huffed, and Shawn shrugged helplessly.

“You said you wanted to have a big part!”

“That’s not what I said and you know it!”

“But your murder would have tied it all together so nicely—” 

“Shawn,” Juliet warned, trying to stay on track.

“Fine. Anyways, the plot is that each of the murder’s is kinda very…disturbing.”

“Shawn was in a bad place,” Gus supplied quickly, not wanting his best friend to seem like some crazed person who may actually be capable of murder. Juliet’s face softened at this, while Lassiter just scoffed.

“Thanks, Gus. But yeah, the victims are meant to be reflections of the main characters. So the first victim, I called her Jane Tully, was meant to be a mirror of Jules’ character, Jenny Orland. Hence, the blonde hair with a dye job.” Shawn paused here to see Juliet’s reaction. Juliet, in turn, seemed to be honored.

“I can’t believe you made me a character in your novel!” Juliet squealed happily, before noticing Lassiter’s stern glare. “What? You got to be the main character,” Juliet defended, which made Shawn grin.

“The next murder is Lassie’s, and it happens in a park about a week after the first murder. It’s actually going to be really tough to recreate, seeing how public parks are.” Shawn shrugged helplessly. “Lassie’s mirror is strung up on a tree.” Juliet nodded and wrote some notes in the notepad she had pulled from her jacket pocket.

“Okay, it’s been roughly a week. O’Hara, get some uniform officers to be scouting the local parks. If what Spencer says is true, the second murder should be taking place sometime in the next few days,” Lassiter ordered, and O’Hara nodded, leaving the conference room. “In the meantime, you two,” Lassiter pointed at Shawn and Gus, who grinned identical grins at at the head detective. “Need to come with me and find this Kerrigan guy, seeing how that’s our only solid lead at the moment. And Spencer, you need to tell me everything that happens in that novel of yours. We need to be prepared for everything.”

“Actually, Lassie, I have my job to go to. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving.” Gus said, standing up and brushing off his shirt. Both Shawn and Lassiter frowned at him.

“You still have that job?” Shawn and Lassiter said this simultaneously, which resulted in Gus shooting both of them daggers as he left the station in a huff.

“Well, guess that leaves you and me, Lassie,” Shawn nudged the other man with his elbow, and Lassiter groaned.

“Whatever, Spencer. The only reason you’re on this case is because it’s based off your silly little mystery novel and the Chief left me direct orders to let you help on cases before she left for vacation.”

“Did she now? I’ll have to send her a pineapple as a thanks,” Shawn said thoughtfully.

* * *

“So, you like my novel?” Spencer asked after a while, and it was odd to hear the sincerity in the fake psychic’s voice. Lassiter and him were making there way back to the crime scene in Lassiter’s car to see if Spencer might have a ‘vision’ to where Kerrigan may have gone, or any other leads to their strange case.

Lassiter pondered Spencer’s question for a moment; he could tell the younger man that he thought the book was absolutely ridiculous and honestly quite disturbing, but that would be lying. In fact, Lassiter thought the book was incredibly interesting, and it was surprisingly well written for someone such as… Spencer. And the fact that he had made Lassiter the main character did something to Lassiter’s emotions. 

Not that he would admit it, of course.

“It was… surprisingly good,” Lassiter said after a moment, deciding to choose honesty. His decision proved to be a good choice as Sh—Spencer smiled brightly at him, and Lassiter found himself smiling back. It was odd, this rare moment of genuineness between the two, but it was nice and again, it was something that Lassiter discovered he didn’t actually hate.

What was up with him, not hating things related to the fake psychic’s existence?

“Thanks, Lassie! Really, thanks. I was worried you wouldn’t like it.” Spencer laughed, almost nervously, which made Lassiter sneak a glance at the younger man. He was staring down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. Lassiter returned his attention to the road, and cleared his throat a bit. 

“Why would it matter if I liked it?” Lassiter tried to ask casually, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Shawn, in the corner of his eye, shrugged, choosing to look out the window at that precise moment.

“Dunno, just wanted you to like it I guess,” Shawn said, his tone slightly off.

Lassiter pulled his car into the driveway of the crime scene, which was the perfect opportunity for him to avoid this awkward conversation by simply stating: “We’re here.”

* * *

As they entered the living room of Janet Ortiz’s home, Shawn immediately noticed the striking similarities to the crime in his book. The vase was broken, the window indeed smashed, the couch pillows a mess—it was as if his story had come to life.

Shawn was torn between feeling honored and genuinely frightened.

“So, you mind explaining why you murdered your character this way? What’s with the hair on the ground?” Lassiter questioned, standing in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed as he watched Shawn walk around.

“Well, my killer is actually very smart. He’s not really some sicko who’s messed in the head, not really.” Shawn stared at the wall where the real victim, Janet, had been nailed to. He felt something tug at his heart, but he ignored it; now was not the time to freak out.

Plus, this wasn’t his first rodeo—he was, after all, the catcher of the Yin/Yang killer. He took a deep breath and continued, hoping that Lassiter wouldn’t notice that he really was worried about it all.

“He shaved her head and put the hair at her feet as a way to throw off the police into thinking he’s some deranged psycho with religious undertones—hence, the ‘peace offering to a God’ angle.” Shawn ran his fingers over the oak of the wall, studying the wood lines. He turned back to Lassiter, who seemed to be studying Shawn with an odd expression on his face. “The killer—my killer—knocked over the vase and smashed the window and messed with the pillows on purpose to make it seem like there was a struggle. In reality, Jane let my killer in because she knew him.” Shawn looked closely at the broken vase, window, and pillows, using the detective skills his father had ingrained in him since he was old enough to move; unlike his book, the struggle here looked real.

“And that’s written? In your book?”

“Yeah.” Shawn turned his attention to the photos that sat around the room, specifically the one where Janet was photographed with her sister in what looked like a night club.

“That supports our theory on Kerrigan being the killer,” Lassiter said, but Shawn shook his head lightly, lifting his fingers to his temple.

“Not really. I’m sensing that the struggle here was real, that the killer wasn’t strong enough to hold Janet off. I’m feeling the tingles that Kerrigan is just a plot device.” Shawn wiggled his body for emphasis. “The tingles are also telling me it’s lunch time, but that could  _ also  _ just be a plot device.” Lassiter frowned at him, but didn’t actually seemed annoyed by Shawn’s antic. Odd. Shawn moved towards the pictures on the coffee table, eyes caught on the corner of one of the photos framed.

“So what’s your killer’s motive, then? And who is he?” Lassiter asked after a moment, and Shawn shrugged a shoulder.

“The killer just wants a game, Lassie. He’s bored, that’s all.” Shawn picked up the photograph of the sisters and pulled the photo out of the frame. Underneath the photo was one of Janet and a man who looked to be about four or five years older than her with his hand around her waist. “There’s no reason to kill Janet, she was just some waitress at a restaurant. There doesn’t have to be a logical motive, Lassie. Some people just be crazy.” Shawn held up the photograph to Lassiter, who grabbed it out of Shawn’s hands to inspect it.

“Ex-boyfriend.” Shawn raised his fingers to his temple. “I’m sensing he ended things but she kept the photo in case he came crawling back. Don’t know if that’s going to help us but it’s something.” Lassiter nodded, pocketing the photo for later.

“You didn’t answer me on who the killer is in your book,” Lassiter pointed out, and Shawn smiled at him.

“Come on, Lassie, that’s called spoilers. You’ll just have to wait for the sequel to come out like everyone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anything and everything is appreciated :).


	3. Boneless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn does the 'spread eagle'.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/01/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope the characters aren't ooc! they seem pretty in character to me, but maybe i'm biased. i can totally read the dialogue in their voices but again, i could just be weird.
> 
> regardless, just wanted to state that this fic takes place after the first introduction of yang but there is no shabigail or shules, and also i know that the despicable me movie came out in 2010 but i liked my joke so i'm keeping it.
> 
> ALSO, don't know if you can tell, but i really am flying by the seat of my pants.

“I haven’t seen Janet in months…I can’t believe she’s gone.” The ex-boyfriend, Terry Winters, sat across from Lassiter and Shawn in the interrogation room, visibly distressed.

“Had you talked to her recently?” Lassiter questioned, and Winters nodded sadly.

“Yeah, we stayed friends after I ended things. Didn’t talk about much though, just regular stuff like how she was, or how her parents were.” Winters looked upwards at the bright interrogation room lights and blinked back tears. 

“Did she ever mention the name ‘Thomas Kerrigan’?” Shawn asked. Winters looked thoughtful for a second before shaking his head.

“No, don’t think so. Sorry. But I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.” Lassiter and Shawn left the interrogation room after that, as it was obvious that he knew even less than they did.

“Well, looks like your little ‘vision’ was a dead end,” Lassiter snorted, staring through the two-way mirror at Winters, who simply sat there looking like an incredibly sad sack. “Spencer, you need to tell me right now if there’s anything you’re holding back.”

Shawn pursed his lips in thought, making thinking noises aloud that made Lassiter want to strangle him. “Besides who the killer is, because no one knows that but me, I’m pretty sure I told you all you need to know.” Before he could threaten the fake psychic into telling him who the killer was, Lassiter was interrupted by a voice calling their names.

“Lassiter! Shawn!” They both turned to see Juliet running into the viewing room. “Just got a call, there’s a body at Alameda Park. Let’s go.” They quickly followed Juliet as she exited the station.

“How the hell did officers not catch him?” Lassiter growled angrily, catching up with Juliet as they entered the parking lot. Shawn followed close behind them, most likely texting updates to Guster on his phone.

“We only had two of them stationed there, and they left for a ten minute lunch break to one of the hot dog stands,” Juliet explained as the three of them scrambled into Lassiter’s car.

“Ten minutes,” Lassiter spat as he started the engine. “All it took was _ ten minutes. _” Juliet sighed.

“How was the body found?” Shawn asked excitedly, putting his phone away and climbing into the back seat of the car. Juliet turned her head to the side to answer him from the front seat.

“Hands and legs tied, but this time it was feet nailed into the ground. The victim’s head was shaved again, with the hair placed on the ground in front of him. We’ll know more once we get there,” Juliet rambled off as Lassiter drove the car in the direction of the park. “Also, Shawn, I’ve been meaning to ask: shaved head?”

“Fake peace offering. Throws off the po-po. So does the nailing and rope. It’s really just for fun,” Shawn said absentmindedly, and Juliet crinkled her face in disgust.

“A little sick, Shawn.”

A pause. “Yeah, I see that now.”

* * *

“Found identification on him. Victim’s name is Chris Putter, late thirties. He was a teacher at a local high school according to his neighbours,” McNabb said, handing off the victim’s belongings to Juliet.

“Thanks McNabb. Shawn, are you getting any readings off this body?” Juliet turned to Shawn, who just stood there, unmoving. His body felt almost paralyzed, and he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the man on the ground.

Putter was found leaning with his back against a tree, hands tied behind his back, a thick rope tying together his thighs and his calves a little too tightly. His feet, still with shoes on, were nailed into the dirt with rusty screws, much like Janet’s was. The neck, also like Janet’s, was slashed open, dried blood stained all over his shirt.

Shawn swallowed, feeling a stinging sensation behind his eyes. _ Focus _, that damned voice said again.

“Put away your emotions, son. You don’t have time to think with your heart in a situation like this,” Henry had told him, and little Shawn had stared blurry-eyed up at his father, wondering why he wasn’t allowed to feel. As if reading his mind, his dad had sighed and knelt down in front of him, placing a large hand on his small shoulder. “You can feel all the emotions you want later, Shawn, but right now you’ve got to _ focus _. Someone’s life could be at stake, and you’re not helping them by crying.”

“Focus,” Shawn told himself under his breath, and he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder, but this time the hand was smaller, friendlier.

“Shawn,” Juliet said quietly, having moved closer to him. “You may have written the books, but you didn’t commit these murders.” Shawn didn’t reply, instead moving forward to examine the body, pulling away from her touch.

“Might as well have,” Shawn muttered, more to himself, before raising his finger to his temple and turning to face the others, putting on his best face.

It was time to focus and do what he did best.

“I am sensing that there is absolutely no connection to the first victim, Janet Ortiz, and that this dude,” Shawn gestured to Putter’s body, “Was picked at random.” Shawn paused, remembering something about his book. Instinctively, he tilted his head to the right, thinking hard about the scene.

“Huh.” Shawn said, looking back at Putter, then at the bag of belongings that Juliet currently held in her hands. In his book it had been clutched in the dead body’s hand, but maybe the rigor mortis set in too quickly before the killer could make Putter hold it.

“Spencer,” Lassiter snapped irritatedly, but Shawn ignored him, instead closing his eyes and putting one hand on either side of his temple.

“Shawn are you having a vision?” Juliet rushed forward, ready to write down whatever Shawn saw in his psychic trance. Shawn shook his head rapidly, having finally found the section of the book in his mind:

* * *

_ “There’s something in his hand,” Detective Orland pointed at Collin Myers’ hand, that seemed to be clutched in a tight fist. At first glance, Lawrence would label it a simple case of rigor mortis, but as he went closer to what his partner had pointed out, he noticed a small sheet of white peaking out of the hand’s grasp. _

_ Carefully, he took the victim’s hand in his own latex blue ones, and an odd sensation suddenly washed over him; holding something so lifeless in his hands, it all seemed so _ wrong, _ and though he was wearing gloves he could feel the ghost of the warmth Myers’ had once held, just a couple hours ago. _

_ Swallowing his qualms, he delicately pried the man’s fingers apart, wincing as he heard the snap of a joint or two. _

_ May God forgive him. _

* * *

“Hhhhhhnnng.” Shawn whined, and opened his eyes, looking around wildly. If only Gus were here to support him. “The spirits!” Shawn yelled, making a bird that had landed nearby squawk loudly and fly away, frightened. “The spirits want the bag! Quickly, Jules!” Shawn waved his arms around frantically, acting as if something were pulling him towards the item. Juliet quickly tossed him Putter’s belongings, and with a worried (but intrigued) look in her eye, took a few steps back. Lassiter, however, simply glared daggers at him, clearly way too used to Shawn’s fantastic and brilliant visions.

Sometimes that man was no fun.

Shawn snatched the bag out of the air and quickly emptied the whole thing out on the ground before turning the bag inside out. He shoved his hand inside and began ripping apart the seams.

“Spencer, what the—” Lassiter began angrily, but was interrupted as Shawn tossed the now tattered and ruined bag directly into his face, having found what he was looking for.

(He’d probably pay for that later, going by the head detective’s murderous expression.)

Shawn dramatically flung around the paper he had found stashed in the fabric of the bag before thrusting it into Lassiter’s hands. Lassiter, albeit reluctantly and probably a little angrily, snatched it from his grasp.

“Look at it! There’s a clue! The spirits want you to see the clue, Lassiface!” Shawn feigned exhaustion as he collapsed onto the ground, directly beside the body. His eyes widened. “Eugh!” He quickly rolled away from the corpse and onto his back, finding himself staring up at Lassiter’s disappointed baby blues. “What’s the clue?” he queried.

“It’s a message,” Lassiter stated after a moment, inspecting it closely before holding up the paper for Juliet to see. It had faint lettering that seemed to have been scribbled quickly with a dried out sharpie. “‘Who you gonna call?” Lassiter read out, and Shawn looked at him, puzzled.

“Ghostbusters?”

* * *

“Hey buddy! Another body was found and killed the same way I killed mirror Lassie in my novel, then I turned the dead dude’s bag inside out and it told us to call the Ghostbusters. Get back to me as soon as you can, I’m truly flying by the seat of my blue ripped jeans.” Spencer hung up the phone as Lassiter approached him.

“O’Hara’s going to finish up here, so let’s go back to the station. I need you to explain this murder in terms of your silly little book,” Lassiter grumbled, pushing Spencer aside to enter the driver’s seat. The other man ran around to the passenger side and hopped in, irritatingly excited for someone who may have created a serial killer.

“Well, _ I _ actually forgot, but the _ spirits _ remembered—”

“Spencer.” Lassiter shot him a look that said ‘not now’ but the stubborn fake psychic ignored it. 

“The _ spirits _,” Spencer repeated, “Remembered that in my book, the killer had left a written note as a clue. However, my clue was an address, not some basic Ghostbusters reference, so really I’m at a loss here.” Spencer paused. “Should I call Gus again? I know he loves puzzles, otherwise he wouldn’t have got a lifetime subscription to that safe cracking magazine.”

Lassiter pointedly ignored the man’s musings. “Why did the ‘spirits’ remember that fact about your book but not you?” he asked instead.

“I have the memory of a goldfish. Or whatever fish Dory is.”

“Mhmm. Well. Can your ‘spirits’ tell us if the body we found is the exact same as the one in your novel?” Lassiter huffed, deciding that the only way he would get answers out of Spencer was if he humored him. The fake psychic closed his eyes and put a finger to his temple, pretending to contact said ‘spirits’.

“The spirits claim identicality,” Spencer said after a couple seconds, opening his eyes again. Lassiter nodded, but he should have known that wasn’t the end of it.

“Wow, it’s like someone loves my book so much they wanna see the live action version. Maybe I should contact someone in Hollywood and see if they’re up for making a movie; obviously it’s what the audience wants to see,” Spencer cheerfully rambled off, staring out the window at the passing cars. Lassiter gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white and his wrists starting to strain. “Of course, then we’d have to find an Irish pepper-haired-stern-bushed-ruggedly-handsome man to play Detective Laurie, but shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll of course be played by a young Val Kilmer type, that man was sexy as hell—” 

“Spencer!” Lassiter sharply interrupted, and the fake psychic instantly shut his mouth. “This isn’t a joke. Two people have died and we’re no closer to finding who did it. For once in your life, can’t you be serious? This involves you too. In fact, if you take a closer look, much of this is your fault,” Lassiter spat, and he _ knew _he was being unfair to Shawn and he knew that Shawn did care about the people who died, it’s just…

He didn’t know why he suddenly snapped, he really didn’t. All Lassiter knew was that this was the second time someone has chosen to target the irritatingly charming (though he would never admit it out loud) fake psychic, and although Yang ended up shackled in a mental institution, that whole experience had… Well, it had been downright terrifying. Lassiter had never seen the younger man so scared, so angry, and Lassiter had hated how it affected him, seeing Spencer like that—he was Carlton Lassiter, for Christ’s sake.

But now, Shawn Spencer was so cheerful, as if his life wasn’t potentially in danger. Again. And maybe it was due to the fact that initially, Shawn had thought it was so cool, so neat that a deranged serial killer wanted to talk to him. In fact, Lassiter had even been jealous, but all that changed only a couple hours later.

Lassiter wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He didn’t envy Shawn, he didn’t want to beat him in solving the case, to prove that he was a better detective. This time, he just wanted to save him.

Lassiter just hoped Shawn wanted to be saved.

He took a hand off the steering wheel to pinch the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Spencer,” Lassiter began, ready to apologize for blaming the situation on him, but Shawn had beat him to it.

“Lass—Lassiter. Carlton,” Shawn said carefully, his voice sounding odd, the way it held no inflection of jokiness. Lassiter stared at the other man, taken aback at the use of his first name. “This is… the only way I can cope. I know that this whole thing is all my fault, and that if I hadn’t written my stupid book those two people would probably still be alive. But as soon as I stop making jokes, that’s—that’s when the reality sets in. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that again.” Shawn took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “God, I wish Gus was here.”

“Guster?” Lassiter questioned after a moment, his tone much softer than he would have liked.

“Gus goes along with my jokes or does even stupider things when stuff gets serious ‘cause he knows that’s the only way I can deal,” Shawn explained, fidgeting his hands nervously in his lap. The fake psychic suddenly looked so young. “When my mom left, Gus and I did everything I could think of before he went off to college, like getting stuck at the Mexican border or working at a candy store. Though the candy store job probably wasn’t the best idea—Gus kept eating all the candy, and then his mom blamed me for getting her sweet, sweet Burton fat. Also, you should see Gus on a sugar high, it’s actually really terrifying.” Lassiter raised an eyebrow but said nothing; Shawn being even remotely serious was rare and fragile—any moment he would snap out of it and return to his regularly scheduled jackass-ness. Lassiter drove silently for a while, debating on how to respond.

“And when… When Yang took my mom,” Shawn continued suddenly, despite Lassiter thinking he was done. “I...God, I don’t think I had ever been so scared in my life. I wanted to run so badly, Lassiter, because that’s how I solve all my problems. I run.” Shawn chuckled humorlessly. “But I couldn’t run this time, not when it was my mom. I couldn’t run away, and I think that’s what made me the angriest. But man, it worked out in the end, so it wasn’t totally bad, right? Mom was safe, my parents sort of grossly got back together, Gus and I continued to fight crime, and I wrote a—I wrote murder plans for a murder.” Shawn covered his face with his hands for a moment, groaning. “Is it possible to commit murder vicariously? Can you arrest me for that?” 

“It’s not your fault,” Lassiter said instead, and Shawn turned towards him, puzzled. “I didn’t—If not your book, it would have been someone else’s. You don’t make these crazy bastards; they’re crazy way before you even came along. In fact, it’s better that you wrote the damn book—at least this way we have some idea of what’s coming.” Lassiter paused as he parked the car into the lot of the station. He turned to look at the younger man, who was staring at him curiously. “It’s not your fault…Shawn.” Lassiter repeated, adding the use of his first name for emphasis on the sincerity of the comment. Shawn continued to stare at him for a moment with an expression Lassiter didn’t know how to interpret, before he broke out into a grin.

“You used my first name!” Shawn said cheerfully, and Lassiter groaned; the serious moment was broken.

“Is that all you got from that?” Lassiter chastised half-heartedly, finding it hard to put venom in his voice.

“Also that you care about me.” Shawn said sweetly, leaning over to rest his head on Lassiter’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lassie. I’ll let Gus know he has competition on the ‘best partner’ front.”

Lassiter shoved the other man out of the car.

* * *

“Ghostbusters?” Gus asked, entering the police station an hour later. Shawn, who was sitting on Lassiter’s desk, swiveled around to face his partner.

“Right? It’s so exciting.” Shawn gestured with his hand for Gus to come closer. “Look, man, in the book the clue was supposed to be an address, and that address was supposed to lead Detective Laurie and Jenny to some abandoned warehouse where—”

“I know, Shawn, you made me read your book right after you finished, then proceeded to quiz me on it,” Gus interrupted. “I don’t even know where you found the time to make a twenty-page quiz on your book.”

“I didn’t make it, Gus! I had the Psycho’s do it. They were more than willing to help.”

Gus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it suddenly, frowning. “Hold up, you let _ them _ read the book before me?”

“Well yeah, otherwise who would make the quiz for you to do after you finished the book?”

“You said I was the first person to read it!”

“You were! I don’t count the Psychos as people, they’re more like my little minions.”

“Minions are people.”

“No, Gus, they’re minions. Tiny little yellow guys.”

“That’s offensive, Shawn.”

“You know I meant the Despicable ones in the overalls!”

“Still offensive.”

“You’re offensive.”

“You’re—”

“Spencer! What did I say about sitting on my desk?” Lassiter barked, using the file folder in his hand to smack Shawn off his desk. Shawn jumped off and stood beside Gus.

“That I should sit in your lap instead?” Shawn suggested innocently, causing Lassiter to choke as he sat in his chair.

“No—” Lassiter began, face starting to flush.

“What Shawn actually means,” Gus cut in, pushing Shawn to the side and stepping forward. “Is: ‘Hello, Lassie. Sorry I sat on your desk. Do you have any leads on this creepy case involving my creepy book?’” Gus spoke in a higher tone, indicating his intention to imitate Shawn’s voice.

“I don’t sound like that!” Shawn smacked his friend in the chest, resulting in a high-pitched cry of pain from the latter.

“Enough,” Lassiter snapped, and handed Shawn the file he had been holding. “Bag analysis came back. Only thing found was some oak shavings, most likely from the tree he was sitting underneath. Other than that, nothing else.” Shawn opened the file to see pictures of the shavings Lassiter was talking about. Shawn grabbed Gus’ arm and turned him around, away from Lassiter.

“Dude, look at these shavings,” Shawn whispered to his partner, pointing at the tiny strips of wood in the photograph. Gus shrugged.

“So?”

“So? These are way too nice to be tree dandruffs. Look closely.” Gus squinted, inspecting the photo carefully to try and see what Shawn saw.

“I guess they do look a little too nice. I think that’s a pattern.” Gus pointed at a cluster of the shavings, causing Shawn to make his ‘I see a clue’ face. Shawn swirled back around to face Lassiter, hand to his temple ready to make a ‘psychic’ spectacle.

“Ohhhh I’m FEELIN’ it!” Shawn cried out in a high pitched voice, consequently causing everyone around him to stop and stare. Lassiter rubbed at his face, clearly tired.

“Out with it, Spencer,” Lassiter huffed, but Shawn ignored him.

“_ Oh! _ I can feeeeel it.” Shawn raised both of his hands and pinned them in the air beside his head. “Oh _ GOD! _”

“Shawn, this is getting a little uncomfortable. You’re sending the wrong message,” Gus whispered at him, and Shawn glanced at his partner, frowning.

“Fine,” Shawn whispered back, before crying out again to the crowd: “I’m sensing that we have to go back to the first victim’s house, Janet Ortiz! She is the key and actual connection to our serial murderer!” Shawn exclaimed, before collapsing onto Lassiter who was sitting in his chair, annoyed and now a little flustered.

“Spencer,” Lassiter growled. “Off. _ Now _.” Shawn, deciding he was tired from his ‘psychic episode’, chose in that moment to go boneless. Shawn felt Lassiter freeze beneath him, almost as if he were afraid to move.

(This was probably attributed to the fact that he was resting on parts of Lassiter that he knew would be 100% more receptive to his love than Lassiter would ever be in this point in time.)

“What. In the hell. Is he doing.” Lassiter gritted out through clenched, and Gus just sighed, probably watching with a disapproving look as Shawn continued to glomp a man with a gun and a trigger-happy finger.

“The spirits possessed him so now he’s tired.” Gus explained nonchalantly, and Shawn smirked, appreciative that Gus did and would always have his back.

“All his weight is on me.”

“It’s called going boneless. You’ll have to carry him.” Gus turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Meet you at the car, Shawn!” Lassiter muttered a string of curses under his breath before using most of his strength to push Shawn off of him and onto the floor.

“Lasssssie,” Shawn moaned as he lay spread eagle on the station ground. Lassiter stared at the other man from his seat at his desk, eyes wide and face starting to turn a soft shade of pink. Shawn resisted the grin that threatened to break free, not wanting to ruin the perfect look of fluster on Lassiter’s face.

“I’ll...call O’Hara. To meet us at the house. Right,” Lassiter managed, before grabbing his coat and rushing out of the station. Sighing, Shawn got up, brushing off his jeans.

  
So, _ so _ close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything and anything is appreciated!
> 
> this fic is actually so fun to write i pray i don't lose interest before it's finished (if you know me i lose interest fairly quickly and easily). but no fear! i will stick around in the psych fandom as long as possible; after all, i just finished rewatching the series for the third time in four/five years, so truly, i am dedicated.


	4. Leaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus' head is filled with air, Shawn says the word 'virgin', and together they create a step-by-step plan titled 'How to Get a Man in 10 Days'.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/02/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the extremely late update! school has been a pain but no worries because i definitely have no intention of giving up this story! i have a big thing planned and i'd hate for it to never see the light of day.
> 
> however, since i am so busy i don't really have time to proofread the work or have any sort of beta, so sorry loves if it is a bit on the brain twister side.
> 
> but hey! main focus: shassie.

“You good?” Gus asked as Shawn got into the Blueberry. Shawn looked at his best friend, puzzled.

“Why wouldn’t I be good? We got a break in the case, Gus!” Shawn held his fist out to Gus, who fist bumped him right away on instinct.

“I know, I meant are you good with Lassiter.”

“What? Why wouldn’t Lassie and I be good? Did you _ not _see the show I put on in there? The dude was all over this,” Shawn gestured to his body, and Gus scoffed.

“I did, and Lassie looked thoroughly uncomfortable.” Gus paused. “_ I _was thoroughly uncomfortable.”

“Did not! He totally loved it, he was blushing and everything. Also, you love my body Gus, it is the ‘a pit of me’ of good bods.”

“It’s ‘epitome’, Shawn.”

“Heard it both ways.” he said on reflex, and Gus shook his head.

“No you haven’t, Shawn. Also,” Gus added in a more serious tone, “Your little boy crush on Lassiter doesn’t seem to be working out. You’re just making him more agitated.” Shawn crossed his arms, defensive. Gus was the only person he had told about mission ‘Woo Lassie’, and undoubtedly it took a while before Gus had actually believed him…

* * *

**2 MONTHS AGO**

_ “Hey buddy!” Shawn waltzed into the Psych office to see his business partner already there at his desk, typing away. “Why you here so early? I thought you had your route to do.” _

_ “Finished early, and you said what you needed to tell me was important.” Gus said, looking up from his laptop. Shawn stared back at him, a confused look on his face. “You sounded serious,” Gus explained slowly, which made Shawn frown. _

_ “What?” Shawn said in maybe a slightly higher pitch than normal. “I sounded totally normal.” _

_ “No, this is exactly what you sounded like,” Gus pulled out his phone and played back the voicemail Shawn had left a few hours ago. “Gus!” recording Shawn cried out. “I had an epiphany, and I really, really need to tell you. It’s super important and I can only do it with your help, Gus! Meet me at the Psych office at one.” Gus clicked his phone closed. _

_ “How is that not normal?” Shawn asked incredulously, and Gus raised an eyebrow. _

_ “You said ‘epiphany’.” _

_ “So?” _

_ “Usually you said you’ve had a ‘Tiffany’ and then I have to correct you and say, ‘no, Shawn, you mean ‘epiphany’, and then you say something like, ‘then who the hell is Tiffany’, and then I smack you for being a dumbass.” _

_ “I’ve still heard it both ways.” Shawn protested, and Gus tsked him. _

_ “No you haven’t.” Shawn merely shrugged, agreeing to disagree before plopping down on the couch in the office. Gus stared at him, eyes narrowed. _

_ “Well?” _

_ “Well what?” _

_ “What’s your epiphany?” Gus exasperated, and Shawn smiled. _

_ “Never thought you’d ask, Gus! So you know how I like to bother Lassie, give him the ol’ run around, show him up, show him out, beat him in every sense and tingle and vision and spirit possession possible—” _

_ “Shawn, get to the point.” _

_ “Think of the little teapot.” Shawn said, and looked at Gus expectantly, like that explained everything. Gus frowned. _

_ “I’m not following.” _

_ “I want to tip him over and pour him out.” _

_ “What?” Gus stared at Shawn, who stared back, waiting for his best friend to get the idea. “I don’t… wait. You don’t mean…” A grin slowly spread over Shawn’s face. “First of all, _ gross _ . Second, don’t ever phrase you liking someone like that again to me. You’ve just ruined a perfectly good nursery rhyme. Third, you like _ Lassiter _ ?” _

_ “Took you long enough, buddy.” Shawn leaned back, feigning boredom. In actuality, he had been freaking out all morning on how he was going to tell his best friend; it had already been incredibly hard not making it blatantly obvious in public, and even harder not to tell his lifelong friend that he had a little schoolboy crush on the man who threatened to shoot him at least once every week. _

_ “Lassiter? Carlton Lassiter? No, Carlton _ Jebediah _ Lassiter?” Gus stressed the middle name, as if that would suddenly make Shawn change his mind. _

_ “Lassifrass, if you will.” Shawn laid down on the couch, crossing his hands over his stomach. “Something about those baby blues, Gus—gets me every time.” _

_ “Shawn!” Gus got up from his desk and slammed his hand down on his partner’s forehead. Shawn yelped in surprise, unfortunately trapped under his partner’s weirdly strong grip. “Are you sick? Fever? Dying? Please don’t die on me, Shawn.” Gus’ voice started to quiver. Shawn smacked his friend’s hand away, sitting up. _

_ “Jeez, Gus, no, I’m not dying. I’ve simply got a itty bitty boy crush on an itty bitty Detective.” _

_ “You mean Juliet.” Gus stated this, not phrasing it as a question. Shawn glared at him. _

_ “No, Gus, I said boy and I said Lassie. Unless Jules has been lying this whole time and somehow been living a double life as a Detective Carlton Lassiter, I’m pretty sure it’s not Jules. Stop making this so difficult.” Gus sat down on the couch beside Shawn, face filled with the utmost confusion. _

_ “I don’t understand… he’s literally threatened to shoot you, Shawn.” _

_ “I know! Isn’t it sexy?” _

_ “No, Shawn, the man has a gun. He could actually shoot you.” _

_ “And I’d totally let him.” Shawn said dreamily, and Gus smacked him in the chest. _

_ “Shawn!” _

_ “I’m sorry, Gus!” Shawn jumped up, finally exasperated by his best friend and his reaction. He threw his arms up in annoyance. “I don’t know what you want me to say! I can’t control how I feel. As soon as those shirt buttons pop and I get an eyeful of that sweet, sweet stern bush, I turn into a melted pineapple upside down cake.” Gus made a face at him, but seemed to understand that Shawn was genuinely serious about this. _

_ “Well, if you like him you like him. But don’t ever say stuff like ‘tipping him over’ or ‘pouring him out’ again or I will shoot you, Shawn, and not in the sexy way.” Gus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “So what now, you gonna try and date him?” _

_ “That’s steps later, Gus. Step one of ‘Woo Lassie’ is making him see that I am,” Shawn struck his most attractive pose. “Available.” _

_ “Shouldn’t step one be to get Lassie to actually like you as a person first?” Gus snorted, and Shawn pouted at him. _

_ “What do you mean? Of course he likes me! What’s not to like, great hair, amazing psychic abilities—” _

_ “You’re not actually psychic, Shawn. And frankly, Lassie hates the both of us. All we do is show up and make them look like fools.” Gus said this matter-of-factly, but Shawn could see the hint of smugness on his face; after all, him and Gus were fantastic at their jobs. _

_ “Lassie will grow to love me, just you wait.” Shawn moved towards the plastic drawing board, pulling it in front of the couch. Picking up a marker, he wrote in huge letters ‘How to Get a Man in 10 Days’. _

_ “Ten days? Really Shawn?” _

_ “Okay, so maybe it’ll be more like ten months. But hey, I’m optimistic! Now help me brainstorm.” _

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

“Lassie likes me. I’ve completed step one.” Shawn argued, pulling himself back from his memories. Gus snorted as he pulled out of the station parking lot in the Blueberry.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, Gus, I’m ‘sure about that’.” Shawn replied mockingly. “Haven’t you seen the way he’s been ogling me? He’s one case away from jumping me.”

“Uh huh. Ogling.” Gus threw his partner a skeptical look, which Shawn chose to ignore. Shawn knew his friend didn’t approve, but it was his life, and for some insane reason that wasn’t actually that insane, he was drawn to the amazing Carlton skip-the-middle-name Lassiter. He also knew that Gus was just worried about him, but this was no different from when he told Gus he had ‘funny feelings in his tummy’ for Billy Wilder in the fifth grade. Only now, Billy was Carlton, less mean, and didn’t beat up Gus or take their lunch money. Gus simply did not understand guy love.

(Shawn had explained it all to Gus once before, and assured Gus he would never fall madly in love him as he was only attracted to strong men. Shawn had then told Gus that if he tried to attack him for implying that he was weak, that would make him a strong man and therefore Shawn would want to run off to Guatemala with him and elope on a sandy beach under the eyes of a thousand suns. Gus struggled with this internally for about a day before saying he didn’t care, shortly thereafter proceeding to wrestle Shawn into the ground.)

“Anyways, step two is already in motion, if you couldn’t tell already.” Shawn grinned wickedly.

“What’s step two?” Gus asked reluctantly.

“Flirt with him relentlessly until he realizes he’s totally head over heels for me.” Gus snorted again. “Gus, if you continue to snort, your head is gonna fill with air, and then your brain will be squished and fall apart from being all mushy.”  
  


“That’s not how it works, Shawn.”

“And how would you know, airhead?”

* * *

Carlton Lassiter was incredibly confused.

Or maybe, just possibly, he was going insane.

Not from the case however, though it was an interesting case. Ever since it was revealed that Spencer’s book was the main inspiration for the murders, Lassiter knew this case would be anything but boring. He just really, really hoped they would catch the son of a bitch before the killer turned their attention towards the man behind the book or those around him.

No, Carlton Lassiter was incredibly confused because he was at least 60% sure Shawn Spencer was coming onto him.

Okay, maybe 50-60% sure.

It was a coin toss, really.

(It was less of a coin toss, however, how Lassiter felt about that certain fake psychic, but he’d burn that bridge when he got to it.)

Regardless, Spencer’s relentless jabs and flirty remarks along with his inane need to grab onto Lassiter during one of his ‘visions’ hadn’t gone unnoticed. And not just by him…

* * *

**A COUPLE WEEKS AGO**

_ “Carlton!” came O’Hara’s cheery voice. “I was wondering if you wanted to go get some lunch since we finished all the paperwork on this case.” She smiled brightly at him, and he raised an eyebrow, looking up from the papers on his desk. _

_ “You mean  _ I _ finished all the paperwork on this case,” Lassiter stated bluntly, and Juliet grin widened somehow. _

_ “Not my fault you lost that bet last week,” Juliet said smugly, leaning against Lassiter’s desk. He scoffed at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. _

_ “How was I supposed to know McNabb’s wife’s name was Francine?” Lassiter asked incredulously, and she frowned disapprovingly at him. _

_ “We’ve known him for years now, and we went to his wedding?” Juliet stared at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of response, but all Lassiter did was stare at her blankly. “She was at the barbecue last summer? I’m pretty sure you talked to her, too!” Lassiter turned his attention back the the folder on his desk. _

_ “Sorry I don’t have time to remember useless information relating to officers’ irrelevant personal lives,” Lassiter shot back, but Juliet seemed to either ignore his remark or just not care as she leaned over his desk and shut the folder he was currently sifting through. _

_ “O’Hara!” Lassiter whined, and Juliet simply smiled warmly at him. _

_ “Come on, partner. You drive, I’ll buy. I’m craving burritos.” Juliet proceeded to skip out of the precinct, Lassiter reluctantly in tow. _

_ Lassiter never understood how his partner could be so exuberant all the time, but to be honest he actually didn’t mind all that much; she was one of the very few people that could stand him during his ‘anger states’ and put up with all his rudeness and insults (he really did need to work on that). Juliet evened him out, and she always,  _ always _ had his back. He really did love her; of course, not in the romantic sense, but in the sense that if anything were to ever happen to her, he would shoot everything and everyone until she was safe again. _

_ Juliet was also, unfortunately, one of the very few people that could read him like an open book. _

_ “So, Carlton,” Juliet started once they were back in Lassiter’s crown vic eating huge beef burritos, her tone making the hairs on the back of his neck on alert. _

_ “Whatever it is you’re going to say, I’d rather not hear it,” Lassiter said sharply, before taking another bite of burrito. Sadly, Juliet took that as her chance to keep speaking as though he never interrupted. _

_ “How are  _ things? _ ” she asked suggestively, and he gave her a side glance. _

_ “Things are fine,” Lassiter answered cautiously. _

_ “Good, that’s good.” Juliet munched on her burrito, furrowing her brow in thought. Lassiter had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going towards. _

_ “So, how’s the… life?” Juliet tried to ask casually, which made Lassiter even more frustrated. _

_ “Alright, I take it back. Whatever it is you plan to say, just spit it out.”  _

_ “Fine.” Juliet folded up the rest of her burrito before wiping her mouth, obviously expecting this conversation to last a while. Lassiter inwardly groaned, preparing for the worst to come out of Juliet’s mouth. “You and Shawn have been getting cozy. And before you say it’s all in my head, I’m not the only one that’s noticed. You barely put up a fight anymore when he gets in on our cases, and when he is on our case you actually seem to like having him there.” Lassiter narrowed his eyes at her warningly, but doesn’t argue. _

_ “Even I have to admit that Spencer gets the job done, despite his stupid shenanigans and fake psychic act. It would be stupid on my part not to utilize that.” _

_ “So Shawn’s a tool to you?” _

_ “I—” Lassiter frowned. He turned to actually look at Juliet and saw that she was frowning too. “Maybe tool is harsh. He’s an… asset.” Juliet’s face seemed to relax at that. _

_ “Okay, well, it wouldn’t hurt for you to admit that you like him you know,” Lassiter froze. How could she know that he had been having… thoughts about Spencer? Surely he had been careful with his… ogling and whatnot. Not that he had been ogling. Maybe a little. It was subtle, and though Lassiter didn’t doubt for one second that Juliet was a great detective, he was a better one, which meant he knew exactly what ticks to hide and what red flags that would— _

_ “I mean, it would be a lot easier on everyone if you guys were friends,” Juliet continued, obviously not hearing Lassiter’s panicked internal rant. Lassiter let out a small breath of relief that went unnoticed by Juliet, who was picking at the wrapping of her burrito. _

_ “I don’t have to be friends to work with someone.” Lassiter stated blandly, and Juliet raised an eyebrow at him. _

_ “Well, we’re friends, and it makes it easier for us to work together, doesn’t it?” _

_ He couldn’t disagree with that. _

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

As Lassiter pulled up to the first victim—Janet Ortiz’s—house, he saw that Spencer and Guster had already invited themselves in. Muttering under his breath about Spencer contaminating the crime scene with his cheeto hands, he quickly exited his car and made his way to the house.

“Spencer! Guster! You better not be contaminating my crime scene!” Lassiter shouted at them, before entering the living room to see them both standing not-so-innocently in the middle of the room. Lassiter pulled out a pair of latex gloves and threw it at them. Spencer caught it instinctively with one hand, and held it up in the air with a frown.

“This is one pair, Lassie. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Gus and I are actually separate people.” Spencer said informatively, and Guster held out his hand expectantly.

“Guster doesn’t get a pair. I only have one.”

“Wow, that’s convenient. Is it because I’m—”

“Gus, darling, not now.” Spencer soothed, and tried to caress his hand on Guster’s face, resulting in an angry smack on back of the head from the latter. “Where’s Jules?” Shawn asked conversationally, absently rubbing a hand on his injured head. Lassiter raised an eyebrow.

“She texted she’s on her way,” Lassiter said, and crossed his arms in annoyance. “You mind telling me what we’re doing here in the first place?”

“Lassie, sweetheart, listen,” Shawn sashayed—literally sashayed—his way over to Lassiter before cupping the detective’s face in both his hands. Lassiter could feel Shawn’s breath on his face, hot, warm, almost… inviting? He could see the small freckles on the other man’s face, could see his blue-green eyes shining beneath his lashes. The feeling of Shawn’s soft hands cupping his jaw, holding it so close to his face; Lassiter felt his whole body go warm as he considered taking the leap, leaning in closer and closing those few inches of space between his and Shawn’s lips. He watched as the younger man licked his lips, fluttered his lashes, and leaned in even closer, a mere few centimeters from Lassiter’s face. Lassiter felt his whole face go flush, and he felt his eyes start to shut and— 

“Patience is a virgin.” Shawn whispered, and Lassiter felt everything he had just felt for the other man slip away. It was as if he had been watching a horror movie and suddenly the monster that stepped out of the shadows turned out to be a giant, fluffy teddy bear. Or, if he had just been told he was made Chief, but a few seconds later a giant banner fell from the top of the station that said ‘April Fools, Carlton’.

In other words, the moment was ruined.

“It’s virtue, Shawn,” Guster cut in, and Shawn let go of Lassiter’s face, swirling around to face his best friend.

“I’ve heard it both ways!”

So, so close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anything and absolutely everything is appreciated. :')


	5. Shining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus has a crying shed, Shawn is vaccinated, and Lassiter can't catch a break.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/02/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and heeeeeeereeeee's lassie!
> 
> so this took me a while as i was sort of still figuring some things out about this fic, but alas, here we are.
> 
> again, sorry in advance for any mistakes, i mainly focus on dialogue and banter because that stuff is just the funnest stuff to write and yes, in the psych world, 'funnest' is a word.
> 
> anyways! i'll let you read and blabber on more at the end.

“Shawn, will you just hurry up? We’re late for our afternoon snack and I’m hungry,” Gus complained like a child, and Shawn waved him off from where he was currently feeling up the wooden walls. Lassiter, who had become fully irritated by the whole ‘patience is a virgin’ nonsense, had angrily told them to call if they found anything and promptly got in his car and drove away. Shawn guessed that Lassiter was currently on a long drive south contemplating whether or not he was into Shawn.

Shawn would say yes, Lassiter was _very _much into Shawn, but there was a slight possibility he was being biased here.

“It’s here somewhere, dude,” Shawn muttered, running his hands on the bloodied wall where Janet Ortiz had been strung up against. As his hands travelled farther up the oak wall, his latex gloves caught on a sliver of wood that was sticking out. “Ah ha!” Shawn cried triumphantly, and Gus walked closer behind Shawn to inspect where he had stopped moving his hands.

“All you did was wreck the gloves Lassie gave you, and possibly have wood embedded in your fingers. Congratulations Shawn, you have Tetanus.” Gus proclaimed boldly, and Shawn kicked backwards into Gus’ shin. Gus made a squealing noise that sounded very much like a dolphin.

“Gus, I have all my vaccines, and I know that because you forced me get them all last year. I still have nightmares from having so many needles in me at once. Also,” Shawn gripped at the sliver of wood and pulled at it; snapping off, it was clear that it there was something hollow behind the wood. “I’ve found a secret hole.” Shawn demonstrated this by pushing his finger in and out of the hole. Gus slapped his hand and cast him a disapproving look.

“That’s messed up, Shawn.” Shawn continued to pull the strips of wood away, revealing a large, dark hole in the structure of the house.

“I’m gonna reach my hand in. Gus, hold my other hand in case something tries to pull me in.” Shawn wiggled his left hand at Gus, who raised his hands and took a step back.

“Uh, and get myself pulled in too? Don’t think so.”

“Gus, don’t be the gum in your non-existent hair, you could just let go if I start getting pulled in.”

“We both know my hands cramp up when I’m afraid, Shawn. Stick your hand in the hole so I can go get my afternoon burrito.” Gus gestured towards the hole in a ‘go ahead and get sucked in’ motion.

Shawn reached his arm in and shut his eyes tightly, which probably wasn’t the best idea but he learned that’s what people usually did when they stuck their arms in random hidey holes. Moving his hand around and hoping that nothing crawly got on it, he moved past what felt like a piece of paper.

“Mm, got something.” Shawn grasped at it and pulled it out. It was a note, like the other one that told them to call the Ghostbusters, except this one said—

“C 58?” Gus said aloud, confused, and Shawn examined the paper closer; same worn out sharpie, same type of writing—nondescript block letters.

“C 58,” Shawn echoed distractedly. “Like, movie theatre seats? That’d make sense, considering the Ghostbusters thing—”

“Hold up, I got this, Shawn,” Gus said confidently, and began repeating the same thing over and over again: “C 58. C 58. C 58. C 58. It’s on the tip of my tongue. C 58. C 58. C 58.”

“Why am I holding up so you can sound like a possessed furby doll?” Shawn complained, and Gus waved his hand dismissively at him. “Gus, if you don’t shut up, I will stick your beautiful magic head in this dirty hidey hole.”

“Shawn, C 58!” Gus cried suddenly, ignoring Shawn’s threat, and Shawn frowned at him.

“Yes, Gus, we’ve established that. Now give me your head.”

“No, Shawn, _ Case _58! It must have something to do with one of our past cases, and the Ghostbusters thing was a clue—we’ve done so many creepy haunting cases.” Gus looked at him expectantly. “Hurry up, do that thing where you squint while you remember something from the past.”

Shawn feigned looking offended. “I’m psychic, Gus, I can’t just _ decide _when the spirits talk to me.”

Gus glared at him and raised his finger to threateningly point directly in Shawn’s face. “Shawn, I swear to god, if I don’t get my burrito in the next 10 minutes—”

“Okay, okay! Man, I should’ve made you the killer in my book.” Shawn closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples. Shawn opened his eyes again, a thought occurring to him. “Now that I mention it, would you like to be the killer Gus? It’d ruin the whole canon of the first book but you’re my bestest friend and—”

“Shawn!”

“Fine.” Shawn obediently closed his eyes once more, and sifted through all the cases they had done since he started Psych. There was that one with the murderous clowns, which Gus still had nightmares about. There was the one where they had “accidentally" gotten locked at a candy factory only to realize the candy was made from bugs, which Gus still had nightmares about (also because of that event, he insisted on reading the ingredients on all the candies he bought from now on). Then there was the one with the haunted house…

Shawn’s eyes flew open. “Dude! Case 58 is the one with the haunted house, remember? The one you still have nightmares about. I made us sleep over, you thought you saw a ghost, I went all Ghostbusters on it while you cried yourself to sleep for the next few days, and then it turned out that it was some escaped mental asylum patient named Sally.”

“I did not cry myself to sleep, Shawn. I told you, the pillow was damp from nightmare sweat,” Gus defended, then frowned, realizing that that wasn’t any better than crying himself to sleep.

“That’s disgusting, Gus, you should be ashamed of yourself.” Shawn pocketed the note.

“Whatever, Shawn. I solved the case, and you can suck it.” Gus thumbed his nose and began bowing to an imaginary audience. “Thank you, thank you. No, please, hold your applause.”

“What the hell, I’m the one who figured out what case it was.”

“_I’m _the one who figured out it was a case, Shawn. Suck it.”

“Well _ I’m _the one who wrote the whole book that got people murdered in the first place, so it’s all my fault, so you can suck it!” They both stood for a second, staring at each other angrily.

“Shawn, would you like to go get burritos?” Gus asked after a moment, and Shawn nodded immediately.

“Yeah let’s go.”

* * *

“So you’re telling me, you two idiots stopped to get burritos first before you came here?” Lassiter said irritably. Guster ate his burrito in response, looking perfectly content at not participating in the conversation.

“You know how Gus gets when he’s hungry! He’s like a tiny little baby bird crying out to his mama for a worm.” Spencer imitates a bird and begins to caw, much to Lassiter’s chagrin.

“Uh, I’m not the one who cried last week when my dad forgot to stock his fridge with food for me.” Guster says, unbothered.

“I did not cry, I merely threw an itty bitty tantrum, and it was well deserved. I had no food for dinner that night.” Lassiter couldn’t believe this man ever made it to adulthood.

“Shawn, have you ever considered buying your own food?” Guster asked mockingly, and Spencer turned to look at him, shock covering his face.

“Buy my own food? _ What? _ Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“I’m just saying, if you bought your own food, maybe you wouldn’t have starved.”

“Okay, fine.” Spencer threw his hands up in defeat. “Gus, may I have fifty dollars to buy dinner for tonight?”

Guster paused in his burrito eating. “Fifty dollars? Are you out of your damn mind? What kind of dinner costs fifty dollars?”

“There’s that new taco place by Psych that I want to try.”

“A taco is not fifty dollars, Shawn.”

“You can’t assume that, it’s new place.” Spencer said seriously. Guster opened his mouth to rebuttal, but closed it again, thoughtful.

“We’ll go together,” Guster compromised, and Spencer beamed at him. Lassiter rubbed a hand over his face, mentally exhausted from listening to the two of them banter.

“Are you both done? Unlike you two clowns, I have actual policing to do. Give me the note you found.” Spencer tossed the note at him, and Lassiter squinted at the faded writing. “C 58? The hell does that mean?”

“Case 58: I was a Ghostbuster and Gus was my sweet damsel in distress.” Spencer said happily, and Guster whacked his arm at him.

“The ghost turned out to be a mental asylum patient named Sally. I can get you the file,” Guster supplied helpfully, and Spencer looked at him, confused.

“File? Since when did we have_ files_?”

“Since day one, Shawn. I kept track of all the cases we worked because I knew someday it would come and bite me in the ass, like today.” Guster gave him a smug look.

“Gus! What happened to your faith in me?”

“Lost it when you found out the candy in that factory was made from bugs and you didn’t tell me.”

“But you said they tasted good!”

“That was before I knew it was made of _bug!”_

“But you said they tasted _ good!” _

“Enough!” Lassiter barked, then turned to Spencer. “So what’s this connection then, with your case?” Lassiter asked irritably, and Spencer stared at him, blinking methodically. Guster also stared at Lassiter, mid burrito bite. “Fine. What are you _ psychically _reading as a connection to our current case.” Lassiter gritted out, and Spencer grinned that annoying smile at him.

“Lassie, I’m so glad you asked. Let me consult the spirits. Gus, hand me Lassie’s favourite pen. It’s the one with the gold. Also, hand me the notebook on his desk too.” Guster obediently went over to Lassiter’s desk, stealing the items Shawn had asked for. Lasiter glared daggers at the both of them. “You know what? Lassie, take my other hand. I need your energy.”

“I will not hold your hand, Spencer.” Lassiter bit out through clenched teeth.

“But I lotioned them before we came here, specifically for you!” Shawn whined, and held out his hand towards Lassiter, wiggling his fingers. Lassiter glared at them. “Lassie,” Shawn said seriously. “I need that sexy energy of yours.”

“How can energy be sexy, Shawn?” Guster handed Shawn the items.

“Because it’s Lassie. Keep up, Gus." Shawn turned to Lassiter. "Now, take a seat, Lassifrass, and prepare to see my magic psychicness happen.” Shawn took a seat at the benches near the front of the precinct. Lassiter mumbled something about how murder in a police station is frowned upon and begrudgingly took a seat beside Shawn. Putting the notepad in his lap, Shawn closed his eyes and put his left fingers on his temple, while beginning to draw with his right hand.

“Hnnnnngggg the vision is so CLEAR!” Shawn cried out suddenly, and the hand that was drawing sped up. Lassiter stared at the sheet, not even bothering to hide how impressed he was since Shawn’s eyes were closed. Guster just continued eating his burrito, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. On the notepad was an extremely detailed shed that looked to be in a backyard of sorts; it was actually fascinating how much detail the drawing had, and though Lassiter would rather contract hypothermia and die surrounded by polar bears than admit Shawn was a vessel for spirits, he had to admit the man had talent.

“Lassie, quickly give me your hand so I can finish the drawing,” Shawn held out the hand that was previously connected to his temple. Lassiter frowned disapprovingly, but found himself grasping Shawn’s hand anyways, despite his mental protests. The fake psychic’s hand was actually quite soft. Lassiter cast a glance at said psychic, who was now smiling very wide, still with his eyes closed, while he finished his drawing. Lassiter felt a blush creep up on him, and tried desperately not to think about the other man’s hand in his.

“You almost done?” Lassiter grumbled, and Shawn’s eyes flew open.

“Ta da!” Shawn held up the sheet of paper towards Gus. “Recognize it, Gus?” Guster took a step closer and took the paper out of Shawn’s grasp, frowning.

“That’s the shed I hid in—” Guster cut himself off. “Let me rephrase that: That’s the shed I took _ refuge _ in when a crazy woman was after me.” Shawn shook his head at his partner.

“Gus, stop lying, there is literally no one here who believes that you didn’t curl up in the corner of that shed and cry while Sally hacked at the door like Jack Nicholson in the Shining.”

“She had an axe Shawn, it was literally the Shining.”

“Yeah, and you were Shelley Duvall.”

“Anyways,” Lassiter interrupted, before realizing he was still holding Shawn’s hand. Quickly snatching it away, he took a deep breath before continuing, ignoring the frown that appeared on Shawn’s face after he let go of his hand. “What’s Guster’s crying shed have to do with anything?”

“I’m having strong psychic vibrations that that is where we’ll find the third and final note,” Shawn said confidently, and put his fingers to his temples for emphasis.

“Why does there have to be a third note?” Lassiter asked, and Shawn just looked at him.

“Dude, it’s always three. Power of three. Gus, back me up on this.”

“Rule of Three, actually, and it’s a notion that everyone just feels more comfortable when things end in threes.” Guster explained reasonably. “For example, company slogans. McDonald’s ‘I’m lovin’ it’, Nike’s ‘Just Do It’,”

“Snap, crackle, pop!” Shawn interjected, and Guster and him pointed at each other.

“Basically, the Rule of Three is used to communicate ideas in a pattern because that’s how human beings are programmed to process information, through patterns,” Guster continued. “And it works because it’s short.” Lassiter stared at him for a moment, trying to comprehend how Guster had actually said something new and interesting for once. Shawn, on the other hand, looked bored and was bouncing on his heels impatiently.

“Okay, interesting, but absolutely useless at the moment.” Guster frowned at him, about to protest, but Lassiter was quick to cut him off. “I’ll call O’Hara and _ we _will go to the shed and see what’s there. You two bozos are to stay here and think of what other crazy crap the killer will recreate from Spencer’s stupid murder fantasies.” Lassiter was mainly saying this so the two of them wouldn’t get involved; he would never admit it to Shawn, but after he left the house from the whole ‘patience is a virgin’ incident, he read part of Shawn’s book, just to get a feel of what he was in for, of course.

But of course, because the universe hated him, Lassiter ended up enjoying it.

(In fact, he had plans to finish the entire thing once the case was over, preferably in the bath tub with some candles lit around him. But nobody needed to know that.)

“Actually, I’ve already—” Shawn cut himself off, looking puzzled. “Wasn’t Jules supposed to meet us at the house?” Shawn looked at Guster for confirmation. Guster nodded at his partner, an identical look of confusion plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I texted her, but she said she was…” Lassiter trailed off. He pulled out his phone and read the texts between him and O’Hara. “She said to go without her.” Which is weird, because ever since this case started O’Hara had been nothing but energetic about solving it.

“Lassie,” Shawn said slowly, his tone one with concern. “Where is Jules?” Lassiter dialed her number, a sick feeling beginning to make its home in his stomach.

“Voicemail.” Lassiter said quietly, before hearing the automated message:

  
“_Hello. You’ve reached the voicemail of Detective Jennifer Orland. If you’d like to see me again, you’re going to have to play the game. See you soon, Shawn.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was afraid that since it's been a while (meaning i've watched like 5 different tv shows since i last wrote this) that i've lost the essence (does that work?) of their characters, so bless it'd be kind if you could let me know what you think.
> 
> i also rewatched a bunch of psych clips and reread my fic and some other psych fics to get ready to finish writing this story and wow, i really miss psych.
> 
> anyways! i have a whole plan for this fic so stay very, very tune.
> 
> again, any type of feedback is appreciated.


	6. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn gets real.
> 
> Reworked/re-edited: 03/03/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things be getting rough.

“_Hello. You’ve reached the voicemail of Detective Jennifer Orland. If you’d like to see me again, you’re going to have to play the game. See you soon, Shawn." _Lassiter played the recording of Juliet’s voice again for the precinct to hear. It was terrifying how, although her voice was clear and crisp, Lassiter could hear the fear laced in the younger detective’s voice.

“Listen up, people! One of our own has been taken. I want you to drop everything you’re currently working on and focus all your energy into finding detective Juliet O’Hara.” Lassiter watched as everyone in the department straightened up, ready to go to battle like he was for Juliet. That was the thing about the junior detective—her bubbliness, her kindness, it affected everyone in the precinct. She was friends with every single officer, and for that Lassiter was thankful, because it meant that they were all determined like he was to bring her home safe and sound.

“McNab, gather a team and search the area where she was last seen—canvas the neighborhood for anyone who might’ve seen or heard something. Dobson, check all the security footage of O’Hara in the last 12 hours, inside and outside of the precinct. I want to know everyone who even slightly laid eyes on her during that time.” The officers nodded, jotting down notes in their notepads. Lassiter paused, expression softening. “We’re going to catch this son of a bitch and bring O’Hara home. Now go.” Officers scrambled to go do their jobs while Shawn and Gus stood there, waiting quietly.

“Lassie! Hey, we’re coming with you to the freaky shed,” Shawn said as soon as Lassiter was close enough, and Gus, albeit reluctantly, nodded.

“Alright, fine, but only because it’d be too much of a risk to let you two idiots out of my sight. We’ll take my car, and you can tell me what the hell happens in the rest of your murder book.”

* * *

The car ride to the shed location was uncomfortably quiet, and Lassiter couldn’t tell if he missed Spencer and Guster’s ramblings or not.

At least then, he could pretend everything was fine.

“Right, so, tell me what happens next in your murder book,” Lassiter said calmly a couple minutes into the drive, and he was glad to hear that Spencer was still being his arrogant, irritating self, despite the circumstances. It was comforting, really, and Lassiter found he better understood why Shawn made all those stupid jokes and took everything lightly all the time.

As soon as you let it in, the darkness, the seriousness of it all, that’s when it becomes real. 

“Well, Lassiface,” Lassiter glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Shawn visibly straighten, clearly happy to be talking again. “After Detective Laurie’s mirror kicks the bucket, they find a note telling them to go to an abandoned warehouse, right? So he and Jenny go to investigate like the bad-ass cops they are, only to find that, wait for ittttttt…” Guster interjected with a dun-dun-DUN and Lassiter truly didn’t know whether or not they practiced these sorts of things. “It’s a trap!” Shawn cried in what clearly sounded like an impression of someone, and Guster frowned at him.

“You’ve said it wrong, Shawn. You’ve ruined the whole thing.” Guster said tiredly, and this time it was Shawn’s turn to frown at him.

“No I didn’t! I said it right: _ It’s a trap!” _

“You sound nothing like Admiral Ackbar, Shawn.”

“Whatever, Gus, _ you’re _ the one ruining this whole thing.” Shawn focused his attention back to Lassiter. “Anyways, _ it’s a trap _, and...well, it’s this whole elaborate game that the killer planned, it’s just—well—it’s too complicated, Lassie. I can’t explain it. Gus?” Shawn looked to Guster for guidance, and Guster sniffed.

“You’re lucky I read your sick book, Shawn,” Guster said, before turning his attention to Lassiter as well. “So, _ it’s a trap,” _He and Shawn fist-bumped without looking. “And then the killer says over some PA system: Welcome—”

“Welcome to the endgame!” Shawn interrupted, and Guster glared at him.

“Shawn, do _ you _ want to tell the story?” Guster bites out, and Shawn beams at him.

“Why yes Gus, thank you.” Shawn obnoxiously cleared his throat before continuing. “So then the killer tells Detective Laurence to get in the van waiting outside the warehouse, and then Laurie’s like ‘Or What?’ and the killer’s like, ‘Or I disappear forever. You want to find out who I am? Get in the van.’ and Laurie’s all like, ‘How do I know you won’t just kill me?’ and the killer’s all like, ‘What would be the fun in that?’. So—”

“So Laurence,” Guster interrupted, and then it was Shawn’s turn to glare at him. “Deciding to be the brave detective he knew Jennifer Orland saw him as, turned to her and said—”

“‘Jenny, call for backup and trace my phone. I’m going with him’. Jenny’s all like—”

“‘Laurence, you can’t possibly do this!’” Guster cried in a higher octave than usual, and both Shawn and Lassiter cringed.

“Uh, yeah. Then Laurie was all like, ‘Orland, I have no choice. This is the only lead we’ve got, and it’s—”

“‘—the only chance of catching this bastard before he hurts anyone else.’” Guster said in a deep voice, probably trying to mimic the way Lassiter sounded. Shawn thwacked him on the arm.

“Dude, that is _ not _what I wrote! That’s so corny!”

“That’s basically what you wrote, Shawn. I did a twenty-page quiz on your book, you’d think I know.”

“Gus, I fricken wrote the book! _ I’m the one who knows!” _

“Enough.” Lassiter interjected, and both of the men stopped bickering. “What happens next?” He directed this question more towards Shawn, and Gus sat back in his seat unhappily, crossing his arms.

“So Laurence gets in the back of the shady van, and there’s a small table with a laptop sitting on it, right? So he walks over to the laptop and there’s a note that reads: ‘Say Hello’. So he opens up the laptop and a loading symbol appears on it and that’s when Laurie realizes it’s the start of a video call. So Laurie’s all like ‘oh crap I should record this or something’ and he takes out his phone but it won’t turn on for some reason and he’s like ‘oh crap’ and then the video loads and then—” The car stopped, and Shawn looked around. “Woah, are we here already?”

“Yeah, is that the shed,” Lassiter pointed out the window towards a small shed that was situated behind the ‘haunted house’ that Shawn and Guster had investigated and stayed in. "From your, hmm,_ vision?"_

“Yup, spirits are going wacko here.” Shawn unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “Now, let’s go get Jules back.”

* * *

“Shawn, I have a really bad feeling about this.” Gus whispered to Shawn, and Shawn merely sighed.

“Gus, you have bad feelings about everything. I can’t stop every time you have bad feelings or I’d never move.” Shawn continued walking, Gus trailing in his tow and Lassiter walking a couple steps ahead of them. Gus made some whining noise and caught up to walking beside Shawn, irritated.

“No, Shawn, this is different.” Gus insisted as they walked closer to the shed. “I have a very, very bad feeling. Maybe we should call for backup.” Gus stared at the shed nervously, as if he expected Crazy Sally to come crashing out and jump him.

(Which, Gus actually knew was impossible—he had triple checked that Sally was locked up well and good in the mental institution before they came here.)

“Call for backup? To go in a small shed? Don’t be ridiculous, Gus. Even you aren’t that bad.” The two men stopped when they reached the proximity of the shed, and they let Lassiter go and try the door.

“Locked. Stand back.” Lassiter pulled out his gun just in case before taking a step back and kicking down the door. The door fell with a loud thud, and Lassiter raised his weapon, cautious.

“Hot.” Shawn muttered to Gus, and Gus smacked him in the chest.

“Gun.” Gus snapped disapprovingly, and they walked forward to join Lassiter in the small shed.

“Hmm, a bit cozy in here,” Shawn mused, and pulled out his phone for more light. “Gus, step back please, I can feel your burrito breath on my neck. You’re literally in my personal space.”

“We’re all in each other’s personal space, Shawn,” Gus responded, but did move back out of the shed a bit.

“What are we looking for here?” Lassiter asked, looking around, and Shawn took this as a chance to ‘psychically’ discover something.

The shed was small, and despite having the door wide open it was still quite dark inside. The wood looked rotted and overall weak, but it didn’t look like there could be anything hidden under the panels. There were a few shelves with simple gardening tools stacked on top, and below them were a few silver buckets—probably used for gardening as well. Shawn glanced above them and noticed that the wood panels used on the ceiling were layered and looked quite new compared to the rest of the rotting wood that the shed was composed of. Shawn closed his eyes and raised two fingers to his temple.

“I’m sensing something’s in the ceiling,” Shawn announced, and Lassiter looked up, squinting at the panels of wood. “I’m confident that’s where the clue is.”

“Alright, how do we get in there?” Lassiter asked, reaching up to feel around the panels for any loose wood that he could possibly remove.

“There’s a hammer in there you can use. It’s in that corner,” Gus said, pointing to the right hand corner behind the buckets. “I found it when I was being attacked by Crazy Sally.” Lassiter bent down to grab the hammer.

“What do you think would win, hammer or axe?” Shawn questioned, and Gus looked thoughtful.

“I _ would _ say hammer because it’s heavier, but in the case with Crazy Sally, I’d say axe.”

“True, way easier to kill someone when you’re insane and fear no consequences.” Shawn turned his attention back to Lassiter. “Gimme the hammer, Lassie. I got this.”

Lassiter stared at him, dumbfounded. “You think I’d give one of you bozos a weapon? Over my dead rotting corpse. Now get out of the shed while I hammer the wood.” Shawn raised his hands in a surrender and both him and Gus exited the shed, leaving Lassiter on his own. Shawn squinted up at the sky and closed his eyes for a second, soaking in the sun. It was so bright and happy, deeply contrasting everything that was going on at the moment. Shawn didn’t know whether he would have wanted it to be raining and thundery, but at least then it would have suited the mood. He sighed heavily before moving towards the patchy lawn.

“I know this is a serious situation and all, given that Jules is kidnapped, but I was really looking forward to step two: flirting with Lassie,” Shawn said glumly, and took a seat on the dry grass, propping his arms up with his knees. Gus looked as if he was debating whether or not he was willing to get his pants dirty just to talk to Shawn face to face. After a moment, Gus settled on a weird and uncomfortable-looking squat.

“We’ll get Juliet back, Shawn. Things always end up working out somehow,” Gus tried to soothe, but Shawn just felt worse.

“I know it might seem like you’re going to win every time, Shawn, but no matter how good you are there’s always somebody who’s better. And there’s one rule in gambling—the house always wins eventually,” Henry had told him after he caught Shawn playing poker with his cop buddies, and Shawn had been so mad at his dad for taking away his hard and rightfully earned money that it hadn’t occurred to him what his father was actually trying to say.

Now, Shawn finally thought he understood.

Every case they took, every reckless and instinctive decision he ever made was a gamble. In fact, his whole livelihood at the moment was one big gamble in the grand scheme of things. And sure, he didn’t know the ratio of won and lost games because to him, he hadn’t lost yet. Even with Yang, he had won, but he almost lost his mom, and really that had been the biggest gamble of his life.

_ There’s always somebody who’s better, _Shawn thought miserably. His father was right—he wasn’t going to win every time. He was bound to lose at one time or another.

Shawn was so afraid that this was going to be one of those times.

“The dude’s not going to kill her either,” Gus continued, oblivious to Shawn’s inner conflict. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have left that message, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just…” Shawn took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts in order before speaking. “This whole thing started with my stupid book, which sucks because I really did like my book. Plus, it actually made money. I was actually proud of it.” Shawn kicked at the grass with his feet. “And now look where it’s got us. Where me putting us out there has got us.” Gus sighed and gave in, taking a seat beside Shawn on the ground. He rubbed at his thighs, which no doubt were sore from crouching in such a weird position beside Shawn.

“Shawn, if you hadn’t written the book, the killer would’ve just found someone else’s book and made murders around that.” Which was about the same thing Lassiter had told him, but somehow it didn’t make him feel better this time.

“I know, but then at least Jules would be safe. Is that selfish? God, I don’t care.” Shawn ran a hand over his face, groaning. “I’m just so tired, Gus. First the Yin Yang killer, now this? My mom almost _ died _ , Gus, and afterwards I just went on a date like it was nothing because that’s honestly all I could do. But it wasn’t nothing, and maybe I hadn’t realized how dangerous our jobs were, or I just chose to ignore how dangerous it was because I finally found something I really, actually wanted to do.” Shawn paused, staring straight ahead and pointedly not looking at Gus’ worried face. “But now another person I care about might die and I don’t…I don’t know what to do anymore, Gus. I mean, why’s it me again? Why couldn’t the killer have picked another book to base the killings off of? Why is it always _ me?” _Shawn could feel the emotion rising inside him, and he didn’t think he could stop it at this point.

“Man, I just wanna make pineapple upside down cakes in my Easy Bake Oven and watch American Duos until some lady comes in saying her husband was mauled by a crocodile. Or some other equally scary animal, like those rotten masked bandit raccoons,” Shawn muttered, trying to lighten the mood. Gus, however, stayed silent, letting Lassiter’s hammering sounds fill the air. “You know, this all started out so innocent, just another fun job with you, my best friend, and now Jules is kidnapped, I’m in love with _ Carlton Lassiter, _ and my dad and I have an _ actual _ father-son relationship. _ It’s horrible!"_ He laughed humorlessly, because the whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.

“Shawn,” Gus began slowly, and Shawn finally turned to look at his friend, watching the worry and concern that filled his partner’s face. “If you ever wanted to stop, you know I’d be with you a hundred percent of the way. You’re my best friend and I’ll join any weird job you come up with next.” The sincerity in Gus’ voice struck him hard, and he wondered what he must’ve done right in his life to have a friend like him.

Shawn hung his head down and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering. “That’s the thing, Gus. All this is happening and I… I _ want _ to keep going. And that scares me, because how selfish is that? I don’t think I could ever give it up, even if I was found out as a… _ y’know _ . I’d find a way to bullshit my way out of it because I _ need _ this, Gus. This is _the _job for me. End of story.” He lifted his head to look Gus in the eye. “I can’t go back when we’ve gotten this far.”

“Guys, I found it!” Lassiter’s voice called from the shed, and Shawn inhaled sharply, trying to shake the dark emotions that were roaming about in his mind. Getting up, he quickly tried to make his way to the shed but was stopped by Gus, who firmly grasped his arm, turning Shawn’s attention back to him.

“Don’t think this conversation is over, Shawn. This is serious and we should talk it out after everything is over,” Gus said gravely, and Shawn reluctantly nodded before turning away and walking into the shed to meet Lassiter.

“What’s it say, Lassie?” Shawn cleared his throat, his voice a bit raspy from the emotion fest he had mere seconds ago. Lassiter didn’t seem to notice, instead responding by handing Shawn the note he found.

“R6,” Shawn read aloud, and handed the paper back to Lassiter.

“Any idea what it means?” Lassiter queried, and Shawn nodded, face grim, and turned to Gus.

“Sorry buddy, but we need to go back to the haunted house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any feedback appreciated. :) also apologies for the upcoming angst and emotional pains haha.


	7. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus claims bad feelings again, Shawn wants Britney's 'Toxic' played at his funeral, and Lassiter just wants a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS i know it's been about two years holy hell but i swear i never meant to abandon this fic, life just sort of caught up with me i guess.  
anyways, i am determined to finish this fic since (1) i literally have everything planned out already, (2) you guys were and are amazing readers and i love you all, and (3) i am, as always, missing psych.
> 
> anyways, more importantly: i went through and reworked/re-edited the past chapters to have better writing and overall just more cohesion, so there are actually some new bits such as flashbacks with shawn and henry, and more of shawn's internal emotional rollercoasters, whether that be related to his undying love for lassie or the fact that he is, once again, the target of a crazed serial killer.
> 
> also, i reread my entire fic for you guys to finish this and wow i wrote so much my god.
> 
> more to say at the end notes but, please enjoy this slightly shorter chapter. :)

“Hello?” The door to the supposed ‘haunted house’ creaked open, revealing a darkness that was all too familiar to Shawn and Gus.

“Can’t believe we’re back here,” Gus grumbled from beside Shawn. “I still have nightmares of this place.”

“You get nightmares from Crazy Sally, Gus, not the actual place. There’s a difference.” Although, if Shawn was being completely honest, this place did give him the creeps. For a house that was considered ‘haunted’, it looked eerily normal at first glance; there was a large living room to their left, a dining room to their right, and in the middle stairs that led to the second floor of the mansion. Shawn remembered how he had first pretended the house was haunted just to scare Gus, then becoming  _ actually _ scared when the hauntings continued after he had stopped. Gus had, of course, the whole time believed there were real ghosts haunting the place, even after they had caught Crazy Sally red-handed.

“Alright, where are we going, Spencer? This place is giving me the creeps.” Lassiter glared at his surroundings, as if daring something to jump out and attack them.

“Mmm hold on Lassie, lemme ask the spirits.” Shawn closed his eyes and pictured the layout of the house that he had seen when him and Gus had first received the case. Lassiter made an irritated noise but stayed silent nonetheless. After a moment, he located the sixth room of the house in his mind. “Got it. The spirits say up the stairs, turn left, six doors down, room should be to your right.”

“Fine, you two stay behind me. We don’t know what’s hiding in this place.” Lassiter discharged his weapon and began making his way up the stairs, eyes and trigger finger alert.

“Man, don’t need to tell me twice,” Gus said with relief. He then turned to look at Shawn expectantly. “Well? Go ahead, Shawn.” Gus gestured forcefully to the stairs in front of him. Shawn frowned.

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because that’s the deal—you go first. Then if you die, I run and save myself so I’m alive to play Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ at your funeral. Afterwards, I’ll be in mourning, and one day while I’m drinking my sorrows away at a bar, completely alone, a woman will come up to me and—”

“Gus, that was never the deal!”

“Yes it was, Shawn.”

“When would I have made a deal for you to use my untimely demise to pick up women?”

“It’s what you would’ve wanted.” Gus sniffed, and Shawn smacked him in the chest in retaliation, causing Gus to make a whimpering sound.

“No Gus, what I  _ would’ve _ wanted is for us to die together. The only thing you got right was the Britney Spears song. It’s like you don’t even know me.” Gus rubbed where Shawn had hit him and made a face.

“Hold up, why do we have to die together?”

“Because we’re one complete entity, Gus. If I die you die too, emotionally and physically.”

“You can’t die emotionally, Shawn.”

“Yes you can, I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“No you can’t Shawn, don’t be weird. Dying emotionally makes no sense.”

“Uh, it makes total sense. What do you think—”

“Hey! Are you two bozos coming or not?” Lassiter interrupted from the top of the stairs, and Shawn sighed.

“Coming, my love!” Shawn called sweetly to him, and frankly didn’t even care to see Lassiter’s reaction to that as he made his way up the creaking stairs, Gus in tow. Lassiter grumbled something under his breath and began walking steadily towards the room Shawn had told them to go to.

“Shawn, I still have a bad feeling about all this,” Gus whispered to him as they followed Lassiter down the hall.

“Man, you think I don’t either? Jules is in trouble, we’ll do what we have to—” A muffled noise came from behind the door, and all three men stopped dead in their tracks.

It sounded like Juliet.

Lassiter put a finger to his mouth to indicate that they should shut up, then leaned forward, pressing his ear to the door. Shawn and Gus watched as his eyes went wide and quickly took a step back before kicking down the door.

“O’Hara!” Lassiter cried, gun ready to shoot whoever was holding his partner captive. Shawn and Gus rushed in behind him, only to be confused with what they saw: The room was completely empty except for a wooden desk that was situated in the middle of the room. On that desk was a closed laptop.

_ The video call,  _ Shawn thought, reminded of the ending in his murder book.

“O’Hara?” Lassiter said again, quieter this time and with a touch of confusion to his voice.

“Lassiter? Lassiter, in here! Help!” Juliet’s voice called from the laptop, and Lassiter slowly walked forward and lifted the top of the laptop open. It was a video—a live stream, rather—of Juliet in an empty, white-walled room. She got up from the floor where she was sitting and started pounding on the walls.

“O’Hara, where are you? We’re watching you from a—a video.” Lassiter, voice filled with disappointment, was gripping the laptop so hard his knuckles were white. They watched as Juliet slowly stopped pounding.

“Oh. I thought… you were here,” Juliet said sadly, before seeming to shake herself out of it. She glanced at the windowless walls around her, brow furrowed in thought. “Uh, I’m not sure where I am. The last thing I remember was driving to meet you at the house—Ortiz’s house—and then... “ Juliet trailed off, brows furrowed as she thought. “I think someone was in the car with me.”

“I have Dobson checking footage of everywhere you went today, and McNab’s canvassing the area for any witnesses. Don’t worry partner, we’ll find you,” Lassiter said convincingly, but Shawn could tell he was trying to convince himself as well.

“Juliet, are you hurt?” Gus asked from behind Lassiter, and they watched as Juliet shook her head on the little screen.

“Hey, Gus. No, I’m okay, physically at least. I’m just… I can’t believe they got the drop on me,” Juliet said bitterly, and took a seat back on the ground of the white room. “Is… is Shawn there?” Both Lassiter and Gus turned to look at Shawn, who was still standing in the doorway, staring.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Lassiter replied, not taking his eyes off Shawn. Shawn felt almost paralyzed where he stood, and suddenly he remembered Gus’ consistent whining about bad feelings.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he focused on her again; she was looking right at the camera. “I know you think this is all your fault, but don’t, okay? It’s not. And I know you’ll find me—all of you. There’s no one I trust more than you guys.” Juliet sounded so confident, so sure that they’d be able to find her, that  _ Shawn  _ would be able to find her.

Shawn wanted to scream, and he wanted to run.

This situation felt eerily similar to the one with his mom, in the sense that everyone seemed to have this blinding faith in him that he would magically solve everything, that he was the answer to the problem presented. He hated that, hated that he had solved every case they had ever taken, hated that he had somehow built this reputation as fun but serious, silly but ‘gets the job done’.

_ Why is it always me?,  _ a voice in his head echoed, and he found that it was his voice from earlier, from the conversation he was having with Gus. He had posed it as if he wanted an answer, wanted for someone to explain how the world works and why everything felt like one giant game.

The truth was, the question was rhetorical; he already knew the answer, he was just afraid to face it.

“Jules,” Shawn began, taking a step into the room and closer towards the laptop. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried to figure out what he was trying to say to her. He stepped further into the room. “Juliet, I—” He was cut off by the loud clunk of metal dropping behind him. Swirling around, he stared at where the entrance to the room had been replaced by a large, metal seal.

They had been locked in.

“What the hell?” Lassiter growled, and moved towards the now metal door. He pounded on it, most likely to see how thin it was and if he could somehow shoot his way through it.

“Shawn,” Gus said urgently, and Shawn immediately went towards his friend, alarmed at the tone of Gus’ voice. “The screen, Shawn. Something’s happening.” Lassiter turned back around at this, and the three of them watched as the footage broadcasted on the laptop began to flicker.

“G—Guys? Wh—going—” Juliet’s voice cut out along with the visual of her in the room, only to be replaced by—

_ “Mia?”  _ the three of them said at once, and the woman on the screen smiled.

Shawn scrambled around in his mind to find  _ why why why  _ it had turned out to be Mia—if that was even her name. She had come to  _ them  _ for help, and after an extensive background check and talking with neighbors no one had recognized her at all; all the evidence pointed to Thomas, and yet…

Shawn cursed himself for not looking further into it; he had been so distracted by the fact that it was his book, then by the event of Jules being taken. He recalled what his dad had said to him again, about putting aside his emotions and just  _ focusing  _ on the evidence in front of him, but Shawn had been so caught up in the game of it all that he didn’t even notice that Mia wasn’t who they thought she was.

“Welcome to the endgame!” Mia practically cheered, and suddenly the room began to feel extremely…heavy? Shawn couldn’t find a word for it, but he did find that in the corners of the room, a mysterious gas had begun to start flooding out. Shawn quickly lifted his shirt to his nose and mouth, but the gas was coming too quickly and from too many places in the room to be stopped.

“Shawn…” Gus whined, and Shawn grabbed onto his best friend’s arm with his free hand to keep him upright. “Don’t feel so good,” he moaned, and Shawn gripped the other man’s arm tighter.

“Gus, c’mon, keep…keep it together,” Shawn bit out, starting to feel the effects of the gas himself. He watched as Gus’ lids began to stay closed longer and longer, and he was beginning to feel like sleep would be nice at the moment, too.

“We’re… being…gassed,” Lassiter said slowly, woozy on his feet but somehow still managing to hold his firearm up. Lassiter squinted around the windowless room, trying to find an escape route. Shawn could have told him to save his breath and time as there was no way out of this room since it was reinforced by steel, but he didn’t have the energy in him.

“Mia…?” He said instead, turning his attention back to the laptop while his brain desperately tried to hold onto something in reality. “Why are you…” Shawn struggled to keep his eyes open. By now, Gus had collapsed in front of him, with Shawn still grasping his arm. The only one still properly standing was Lassiter, but even he was beginning to droop. “Why…” was all he managed, before realizing that he was now looking at the inside of his own eyelids. He peeked one eye open slightly, enough to see Mia smiling at him on the screen, but the eye quickly shut after a couple seconds, almost involuntarily.

“Spencer?” Lassiter’s voice reached his ears, but Shawn was unable to open his eyes to look at the other man, or find his own voice to respond. He could feel his body collapsing beside Gus’, and he could feel strong arms start to grip his shoulders, desperately trying to shake him awake.

“Hnnnng,” Shawn mumbled, letting his body go loose in the arms that were holding him.

“It’ll make sense soon, Shawn, I promise.” A voice—Mia’s voice—seemed so far away. “For now, get some sleep—you’ve been working so hard on this case. I’m so proud of you.”

The last thing Shawn heard before he fell asleep was the sound of Lassiter’s panicked voice echoing his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank yous to everyone who is still reading this and are going to stay with me til the end! i can't tell you exactly how much more is left, only that there will definitely be more than 3 more chapters. :)
> 
> once again, everything and anything in the comments is a thousand percent appreciated! hope everyone is doing well during these crazy pandemic times. <3


	8. Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn does some soul searching, and Gus apologizes for trying to shack up with a murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have much to say about this chapter, but i'll save it for the end.
> 
> also, next chapter will probably include a lassie pov.

When Shawn came to, the first thing he noticed was how exhausted his mind _ and _body felt.

Odd, the way a mind could feel absolutely drained.

Shawn fought through the clouds of exhaustion and pried his eyes open, immediately becoming assaulted by a blinding light.

“Hnnnnng,” he groaned, and quickly shut his eyes again. Maybe things would be better if he just slept a little longer—

“Spencer? Spencer! Wake up!” Shawn felt a pair of hands rapidly shake him, and he suddenly, as if his mind had been rebooted by the jostling, he remembered what had happened:

Jules.

The gas.

_ Mia. _

“Mia…” Shawn murmured, attempting to open his eyes again. Something was covering the light this time, and as his eyes quickly adjusted he found himself staring into some very blue pairs of eyes.

“Mmm… Lassie?” The hands that were shaking him had stopped, instead settling for simply holding his shoulders as he began to prop himself up on his elbows and off of the cold floor. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

“O’Hara’s here, she’s fine. _ Your _ partner is still out like a light.” Lassiter gestured with his head over his shoulder, and he saw Gus still sleeping soundly on the floor, Juliet sitting on the ground beside him.

“He was always a lightweight,” Shawn muttered, before turning his focus to their current surroundings. It was a sealed off, white-walled room, almost exactly like the one Juliet had been in, only it was slightly bigger, most likely to accommodate for the fact that there were four people stuffed inside of it. In the top corner of the room, like Juliet’s room had, was a small video camera pointed at the four of them.

Shawn began to feel an odd sense of déjà vu.

“Spencer, you need to focus. What happens next in that silly murder book of yours?” Lassiter helped pull him to his feet, hands grasped on his arm as he attempted to steady himself. Shawn blinked at him, trying to remember where the déjà vu was coming from.

“I…” Shawn frowned, deciding to focus on the question Lassiter had asked him first. “My book ends when the detective gets kidnapped. That’s the end of the book—it’s a cliffhanger.”

“Well that’s just great,” Lassiter said bitterly, clearly annoyed at Shawn, but he still hadn’t released the psychic’s arms.

(Shawn, despite the circumstances, felt comforted by that fact.)

“Sorry Lassie, but with Gus and I solving all your cases it was hard to find time to write another best selling novel,” Shawn retorted instantly, and he was glad to see that the gas hadn’t somehow murdered his sense of humor. He instinctively looked to his left to fist bump Gus, but was brutally reminded by his best friend’s sleeping form that now was definitely not the time. “I did start writing it, though,” Shawn continued, not leaving Lassiter a chance to respond and reprimand him for making jokes during a serious time. “Weird enough, it was actually…” Shawn trailed off, all the pieces beginning to click into place in his mind. Shawn glanced back up at the video camera, narrowing his eyes at the object.

There was something he wasn’t remembering, which was frustrating because he remembered _ everything. _Whether it was Gus’ social security number he saw once when he was ten years old, or the entire layout of virtual Hogwarts on the Playstation he had at his dad’s place, he could always recall everything perfectly if he tried.

It was as if his mind were blocking it out, as if his mind was trying to protect him.

“Spencer?” Lassiter asked, a touch of concern in his voice, but Shawn couldn’t reply—his mind was running miles per minute. There were many things this kidnapping could be, trapping Santa Barbara’s finest detectives and consultants in a room like this, but Shawn knew there was only one thing it _ would _be.

_ Occam’s razor, _his stupid Henry voice said in his head, and Shawn quickly came to the conclusion they needed to leave. Now.

Because the simplest, most likely solution was one Shawn absolutely did _ not _want to face.

“Lassie, we’ve gotta go. _ Now. _ No time to explain, but basically we’re still in the haunted house and if it’s possible to get in, it’s possible to get out, so get looking. _ ” _ Shawn finally pulled away from Lassiter’s grasp and went over to his best friend and Juliet. “Gus, buddy, hey, it’s time to rise and shine. Early worm gets the bird.” Shawn lightly kicked his partner’s body.

“Shawn!” Juliet, who had stayed quiet up until now, smacked at his foot.

“Jules, we need to wake him now, and then we’ve gotta get out of here.” Shawn bent down and put his lips next to Gus’ ear. “MAGIC HEAD, IT’S TIME TO PERFORM!” Gus bolted upright and screamed so loud that it felt like the whole room had vibrated.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” Gus yelled, and Shawn smacked him in the chest. Gus glared at him while rubbing said injured chest.

“I was having a perfectly nice dream—” Gus began irritably, and although Shawn really did want to hear about his dream, they didn’t have the time.

“Focus, dude, we’ve been kidnapped.”

Gus made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Again?”

“Sorry, buddy.” Shawn pat his friend comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Spencer! What aren’t you telling us? Why are you panicking all of a sudden?” Lassiter snapped, face in a grimace as he rubbed a hand on his ear, probably feeling a bit deaf after Gus’ scream. Despite his irritating at the psychic however, Lassiter had been feeling around the walls for a way out. Juliet looked at Gus, a dazed look on her face from probably having her eardrums burst.

“Thanks for letting me sleep, Juliet,” Gus whispered, and Juliet gave him a kind smile.

Shawn turned his attention to Lassiter. “I’m not panicking! And I’m not a hundred percent sure because the gas has kinda meddled with my brain and overall extraordinary psychic thinking abilities, but I’m like, _ pretty _sure this is the start of book two.” Shawn left out the part where book two was far from a walk in the park.

“And?” Lassiter prompted, and Shawn pursed his lips in thought.

“Book two... is really dark? Think: The Shining meets Saw. And maybe a little Saw 2.” Before Lassiter could growl a nasty reply, they were abruptly interrupted by a radio static sounding noise.

“Good morning!” A voice boomed through an intercom, and all four of them glanced around the boxed room, startled. _ Good morning? _Based on how tired his body felt, they couldn’t have been knocked out for more than a few hours.

“Mia.” Shawn quickly went to stand in front of the camera, raising his head so his eyes were in alignment with the camera. “Mia! Mia, come on, why’re you doing this? Is it because Gus hit on you while you were grieving your dead boyfriend?” Shawn turned around to smack his best friend in the chest. “Gus, say you’re sorry.”

Gus glared at him but obliged, going forward to stand beside Shawn in front of the camera. “Mia, I am so sorry. You are crazy, and if it makes you feel any better, I regret hitting on you at all.”

“You both are idiots,” Lassiter gritted out, and pushed the two of them aside, taking their spot in front of the camera. “Look, _ Mia _, if that’s even your real name. You’ve got two of Santa Barbara’s finest held captive, and whatever these two are. That’s four counts of kidnapping, and two counts of first degree murder if we prove that you committed those as well. The SBPD are aware of our location, and they won’t stop until they arrest you. The best thing you can do is surrender now, for the sake of everyone.”

“We’ll vouch that you cooperated, and we’ll talk the DA into giving you visitation rights,” Juliet added, stepping forward beside her partner. “That will give you time to spend with your boyfriend—don’t throw that chance away.” If this were any other criminal, any other case, Shawn would have liked to believe that this would have worked.

However, if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Thomas Kerrigan had been nothing more than a pawn to be played.

“My boyfriend?” Mia asked incredulously, and a static, hollow sounding laughter filled the room. “He was nothing. A red herring, really. You know about those, Shawn, don’t you? You’re a writer, after all.”

“He wrote _ one _book,” Shawn heard Lassiter mutter, and Juliet gave her partner a glare that clearly read ‘not the time, Carlton’.

“Thank you, Lassie, but I’ll take it from here,” Shawn pushed Lassiter and, by extension, Juliet aside. “Mia, you’ve got us, alright? But more importantly, you’ve got me.” Shawn could see his friends faces as they slowly realized what he was getting at.

“I do have you.” Mia’s voice came through sounding amused, and Shawn figured he would take what he could get.

“So just let them go and we can do this together, what d’you say?” Shawn gave the camera his best smile.

“Tell me why I did it, Shawn, and then I’ll consider your request.”

“This is ridic—”

“Lassiter, _ shut up.” _ Shawn turned around to look at Gus, surprised by his friend’s candidness, and Shawn noticed he was not the only one; Lassiter’s mouth was hanging open with a look of shock plastered on his face, Juliet’s expression a slight variation of her partner’s.

“I…” Shawn trailed off, still staring at Gus. His partner stared back at him, a firm look on his face that clearly read ‘you can do this, Shawn’. Gus gave him a slight nod, as if to give the go ahead, and Shawn swallowed the large lump in his throat before turning back to the camera. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, just—just give me a minute here, okay? I’ve gotta—I’ve gotta contact the spirits, and the connection _ really _ isn’t that great in a sealed off, stainless steel enforced room.” Shawn shut his eyes and raised both hands to his temples; although _ technically _he wasn’t psychic, he discovered that in doing this he actually did focus a lot better.

Funny, how things ended up working out.

He recalled the facts of the case, went over it from the very beginning: Thomas Kerrigan and the murder of Janet Ortiz. Mia coming into the Psych office, asking for their help in finding Thomas. Going to Janet’s house, meeting Terry Winters. The discovery of the second body—Chris Putter—and the note that came along with it. The whole connection to Crazy Sally and the haunted house from case 58. Kidnapping Juliet. Basing the murders on the ones in his book.

Shawn felt like he was going insane.

There was no real motive behind any of it; they had run extensive background checks on all the suspects, all the victims—there were no connections to be found. Why case 58? Why kidnap Juliet, of all people? And the victims, Shawn had realized in horror, were simply that—victims. There was nothing connecting them to each other, to Mia, to _ anyone _, and yet they had been slaughtered, pinned up like trophies in an attempt to replicate the murders in his book.

And _ God, _did Mia replicate them well.

It was as if she had been there while he were writing it, been there inside his mind whilst he thought of the ideas. The terrifying thing was, it had come so easy to him. Filled with experience from working at Psych, and filled with a certain pit of darkness he had developed ever since Yang had put his mother in that car; it was as if Mia had infiltrated his mind and copied everything he had ever visualized, everything he had ever feared.

And he feared a _ lot, _despite how cavalier he may seem sometimes; he feared that this time, he would lose. He feared that his dad was right, that he wasn’t going to win every time—that this time the cards were not in his favor, and that this time he was going to lose all his chips: Gus, Juliet, Lassiter.

They were depending on him to solve the case, because as it always happened, everything was put on him. The situation was similar to Yang and her killings, but Yang had been obsessed with Shawn since he was a boy; that obsession grew into the belief that she could have a happy, stable life, or something of the sort, and in the end, it ended up with his mom strapped to a bomb in a cinema parking lot. 

_ “My mom almost died, Gus, and afterwards I just went on a date like it was nothing because that’s honestly all I could do. But it wasn’t nothing, and maybe I hadn’t realized how dangerous our jobs were, or I just chose to ignore how dangerous it was because I finally found something I really, actually wanted to do.” _

Shawn had said that to Gus just earlier that day, and until now he didn’t fully realize why he _ did _ go on that date. He had thought maybe it _ was _ because he didn’t realize the full extent of dangers he was putting him and Gus through, that maybe it _ was _because he found something he finally wanted to pursue.

The actual answer, however, was a little further from that.

He had gone through jobs as fast as he went through sugar; from ski instructor in Minnesota, to working in a candy store with his best friend in Santa Barbara, to being a hot dog seller at a street shop in Puerto Rico—it hadn’t mattered how fun or crazy or unique the job had been, it had never been enough for him to stay longer than a month or two.

He hadn’t ignored how dangerous the job was, he realized, he _ chose _ the dangerous job because it was the only thing that could keep up with his mind (and really, it wasn’t actually conceited to consider himself a little bit of a genius because it was just the truth). And maybe he was right to ask Gus if it were selfish—selfish that, even after knowing the dangers he put himself and those around him in, he still couldn’t give it up. _ Wouldn’t _give it up. He wasn’t lying when he said this was it for him; nothing would ever be comparable to the thrill he got from Psych. Everything else was just… it was all too boring.

_ “The killer just wants a game, Lassie. He’s bored, that’s all.” _

Shawn recalled what he had said to Lassiter when they were back at Janet’s house; he had been explaining his book, but more specifically, the killer in his book. The killer who he hadn’t told anyone who it was, the killer who killed without motive, without reason, without logic.

The killer who was just _ bored. _

Shawn opened his eyes, slowly lowering his hands from his temples. He stared at the camera, unblinking, as if he could see Mia on the other side, sinister and smiling.

“Shawn? What is it?” Juliet was the only one to speak, maybe who dared to speak, but Shawn didn’t turn away from the camera.

“You read the draft,” Shawn said aloud, partially to himself. “You broke into the Psych office and read the draft.” He had begun the second book not long after the first, tucking away the manuscript under the false board in his desk to prevent even Gus from reading it (Gus tended to snoop in his desk for snacks or things he had stolen from Gus). “I can see it now, weeks earlier, the day before I found that Gus had left the Psych door unlocked.”

“I _ told _you that wasn’t me, Shawn!” Gus huffed indignantly. “I’m the responsible one,” Gus said more quietly to Juliet and Lassiter, who looked at him skeptically.

“You read it. You needed the complete story of my novel. You became obsessed after hearing the Yin Yang murders, after reading the book Yang published on me.”

“It was a good book,” Mia’s voice admitted, and Shawn nodded adamantly.

“Yes, yes it was. And it was all very exciting, wasn’t it? Reading what she had done—it was almost adventurous, if not deeply disturbing. And—and Yang’s reasoning behind it, all of it being because just wanted to be loved. To be happy.” Shawn made a sharp intake of breath, as if the psychicness was becoming too much for him. “But you—oh no, you aren’t like that. You don’t care to be loved. You don’t care for deep connections.”

“Tell me why I did it, Shawn.” He knew she was egging him on, leading him towards the way she wanted the narrative to end, but it was too late—there weren’t any options left.

Shawn closed his eyes for a few seconds before answering:

“You were bored.”

And, somehow, he could feel Mia’s grin widen behind the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a couple things if any of you are interested:
> 
> (1) i struggled quite a bit with this chapter and the overall direction i wanted it to go in. i always had a vague (psychic) vision of how i wanted this to go and the overall breakdown of it all (ie. shawn's internal emotional turmoil). particularly in relation to the whole yin yang stuff, i really thought that would have affected him more than he let on in the series (granted, it was generally a light-hearted ish comedy show, but still), especially in regards to blaming himself for his mum being kidnapped (he constantly demands to be the center of attention, and while from audience perspective it's endearing, it invites some bad things as well).
> 
> (2) someone like shawn who, despite possibly being extremely emotionally stunted, is at least partially a genius, and in my opinion would grow incredibly bored doing jobs like working in an acupuncture clinic and driving weinermobiles because they aren't mentally stimulating, if that makes sense. henry raised his kid to be hyper aware of every little thing and would constantly exercise shawn's mind--anything short of problem solving would be boring.
> 
> (3) no, shawn is not actually insane and though the murders in his book are kind of concerning, he is not close to becoming a serial killer (which is why although gus tells him his book is 'kinda sick, shawn', he says it light-heartedly because he knows his best friend). everyone around him knows that, despite his wackiness and overall insanity vibes, he really does care about people and wants to help them. however, i feel like shawn would see himself differently, which is why when he goes through his little realization spiel he comes to the conclusion that the only reason he won't give up psych is because he needs the mental stimulation (as much as i love henry, shawn's childhood was far from normal and definitely attributes to why he acts out and why he needs to be the center of attention).
> 
> anyways! please leave any kinda feedback on what you think!! while i do have a general idea where this is going, i'd love to get some opinions on what's been done so far. anything and everything is appreciated, but please be kind! <3


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